Johnny Angel, by Martha Thomases – Brilliant Disguise | @MDWorld

April 13, 2013 Martha Thomases 1 Comment

Wednesday, it will be a year.

A year since my beloved John last slept in my bed.  A year since I had to give him any medications.  A year since I heard him laugh.  A year since I held his hand.  A year since I felt his breath on my skin.

A year.

According to custom, my mourning will be over.  If I had worn black all year, I could stop now.

There are reasons for this.  It does society no good to ignore loss, nor does it help any to wallow in it.  We are each of us too precious, and every day of life is too precious, to hide away too long.  Life goes on.  We must go on, too.

 

 

 

 

Even though he isn’t here, I’ve brought John along with me.  I include his opinions in conversations I have with other people.  I mentally point out the sights to him as I go about my daily chores.  I put my arm across his side of the bed.

People ask me how I’m doing, and I tell them:  I’m doing.  That’s all I can do.

My family and friends have been there for me.  They include me in social situations.  They call to see how I am.  They make me laugh.  They listen to me kvetch.  I’m really blessed to know such folks.

Certainly, I’m not “over it,” to use an expression no one has dared express to me.  I’m not over it.  I am also not over the death of my father, two years ago.  I’m not over the death of my step-mother.  I’m not over the death of my friend’s father (and my favorite English teacher).  I’m not over the death of my aunt.  I’m not over the death of my friend, David.  I’m not over the death of my mother.

Instead, I am adjusted.  I accept that some of my loved ones are gone.  There is the part of my life in which John was a daily physical presence, and there is the rest of eternity.

I get that.  It sucks.

This would be the part of the column in which I lay down some valuable piece of wisdom, some perceptive observation about the meaning of life.  That’s not going to happen.  The best that I can do is hope that you are lucky enough to love someone so much that, someday, you hurt like this.

Martha Thomases, Media Goddess, is lucky to have a cat who makes her get out of bed every day.