Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Skin of my teeth

Yeah, that's pretty much what it's been like around here. I'm having a more-than-difficult time juggling the return to full-time teaching, and all the various things I have taken on and don't see any way out of. Major home repairs have sapped my strength and my energy, and it will come as no surprise that I have seriously considered (b)logging off for good.

Writing this used to be a release from the pent up stress, grief, and rage, but lately it feels like one more joyless obligation--even though I am always warmed by the loving comments of my indefatigable readers, those happy few.

Badger's feeling the blues, and as I myself approach the dread one-year mark, I feel them too. There's something so awful about the "anniversary" of the moment you lost everything. And with a loss like this, I find I'm longing to drag out the days, to make them go more slowly. It simply cannot have been almost a year since I last spoke to my husband, or held his hand, or slept in his arms. Marking that first year feels like another little death, since it marks as well how far he has receded into the past. I think of him all the time, but am having to work harder to bring him into my conversations, since more and more of those conversations take place with people who never--or scarcely--knew him. I still bring him up, but it feels more artificial, and creates an awkward pause in the conversation.

I can endure, but I don't know how to get the joy back. Perhaps that's simply too much to ask.

10 Comments:

At 6:26 AM , Blogger bg's Little Sis said...

I have no real words, and I'm sorry. I only know what you're going through as the friend to someone who has lost her spouse. She just past 3 years, her and her 3 boys have really worked at life, especially the first 2 years, she said to me the other night when we talked that as the anniversary came and went again, this year she tried more to celebrate her husband, her boys now 11, 5 and almost 3 talked more about happy things with their dad, the older two at least did. She has started to find joy again, she said it's her kids that keep her going, keep her sane, remind her of love and all it has to offer a soul. Like you she is an amazing person, like you probably hear a lot, she hears a lot of "I don't know how you do it", it used to bother her but she said it's easier to just say thanks to people now. She has an easier time asking for help. She went on a date a few months ago, when she told me it went well she was crying at the same time. She told me that she's chosing to live and seek out beauty and joy and somedays are harder than others. Her strength and courage inspire me.

I don't know if that helps or not and I don't know what will or not. I hope you know that those of us that read you, think of you often and wish for your serenity and happiness.

All the Best,
Lil'sis

 
At 10:56 AM , Blogger Aimee said...

You so beautifully and eloquently wrote about anniversaries... I am considering copying what you wrote, to keep just for me.

I am so sorry for your loss. I wish I had the right words for you.

 
At 11:22 AM , Blogger Yankee, Transferred said...

There are no words. I'm so sorry. You are always in my thoughts.

 
At 7:25 PM , Blogger Visiting Prof said...

That is indeed a sobering update, Dorcasina. It's selfish of me, of course, but I hope you keep up the blog. You are able to put into words things that not many people are able to express so eloquently. I know for a fact that it helps others to read your words.

God bless.

 
At 7:54 AM , Blogger snickollet said...

It's so good to read you, but I'm so sorry things are so hard. I'm sending you my hope and lot of love.

 
At 5:14 PM , Blogger Prof Mama said...

Anniversaries are so hard. My grandma died in January 98, and I remember that Thanksgiving and Christmas 98, followed by Jan 99, felt like a long, joyless, marathon of death. It was like I had to tick off the events: "Made it past one holiday--check; made it through another--check; anniversary--check."

And that was just my grandma. A woman very dear to me, yes, but not the love of my life, not the father of my child, not the man I planned my future with. Nothing on the scale of the loss of your beloved.

As always, I am so sorry for your loss, and your daughter's loss. I am always thinking of you and praying for you. If you don't keep blogging, I will email you from time to time--I hope that's OK.

 
At 7:59 PM , Blogger Elle said...

Dorcasina,

I come here lots, but I lurk because I fear I will say something trite. Tonight for some reason, this post is making me cry--big, salty, seemingly-uncalled-for-tears. And it is also making me want to tell you why I visit here...

I've learned a lot about loss here, Dorcasina, but I've learned even more about love. Very important for a woman like me because I've had years of finding out what love wasn't.

I was in a relationship in which my partner convinced me that, just because I was fat, all other things about me aside, I should be grateful to have his weed-smoking, non-working, verbally abusive self around. And I believed it. Because I thought I loved him and he loved me back. Even when he got a little too loose with his hands. Even when he sexually assaulted me.

You see, I always thought, if I worked a little harder, gave a little more, was a little more quiet, one day he'd settle down and realize what a prize I am. Only it never happened.

And in the midst, I found your blog. It is beautiful, Dorcasina. I have never, in my real life, seen love like that, like this. And while I hate that you're hurting, I'm so glad you share. I feel selfish saying that you give me hope, during what must be the most hope-less time of your life. But you do. You make me believe in things that I had relegated to the impossible. You're helping me to realize what love is.

I've never even written about my experiences on my own blog. But I want you to know what you mean to me and others.

 
At 10:29 PM , Blogger Dorcasina said...

elle,
wow; now you have made me cry. but i keep learning what a blessing tears are--they celebrate how much something means, even as they mourn its loss. my husband was a miracle; our relationship was a miracle. we knew it at the time, but, of course, love IRL is not so sweet and elegiac, but messy, contentious, and hard. (i know you know that--but i worry that i sound too pollyanna-in-retrospect when i talk about what we had, and who he was.)
thanks for "coming out" to say hi--
and thank you, too, to all you wonderful commenters who keep bothering to look for me, even when i go underground. you do give me strength, when i let myself look for it.

 
At 2:33 PM , Blogger The other me said...

you write what I feel, except it is my dad who died, in march from Liver cancer. As time passed and we carry on, he feels further away and how can we still be happy and still do those every day things without them?
Watching my mum, after 49 years feeling the things you describe is heartbreaking. It is sadly and horribly comforting to know that it isn't just us who feels these things.
God bless.

 
At 9:56 AM , Blogger OTRgirl said...

I just moved across the country and have a day to surf through blogs. I've missed your blog and was quite happy to see you 'back'. It makes sense that blogging feels like one more 'thing' to deal with, but as others have said, I'm glad you keep writing.

I'm so sorry for your loss. To lose even the outlet of talking about him with others who knew him must be awful. After losing Mom, I could talk with siblings, but no one knows a spouse the way you do. I dread losing Jrex for that reason. He's more of an introvert, so literally, there would be very few people I could talk to who know him as I do.

I wish we could sit down over a cup of tea and I could listen while you tell me of his weird quirks, complain about random habits, laugh over fond memories and just tell whatever stories come to mind. That was the main thing I wanted after Mom died, chances to just talk about her and remember her.

 

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