You need to know
Hi Babe,How is it, where you are? Things here are the same: lonely, with days of despair punctuated by states of less-then-complete-misery.
I'm failing where your family is concerned. You could have seen that coming, I know, and if you were here you would tell me that there is only so much I can do to stay connected to them, and that they are not warm or loving people [look at your childhood!], and that I need to not take it so personally, for me or for our daughter's sake. But it still gets to me that none of them are willing or able to reach out to us. I have seen your Dad maybe three times since you left; I want to hope that it's because he finds being around us too painful, but I don't really believe it. I know he misses you constantly, and you know better than I that work is his way of coping.
Yesterday your daughter brought home "family pictures" she drew during after-school-care. She was very excited: "Look Mama, I painted our family!" she said. "I drawed you and me and Papa! We are a family!" You need to know, in case you don't, in fact, spend a lot of time peering in through the clouds, the roof, or whatever else the floor of heaven is made of, that you are very much a part of her life. We read and talk about the books you read with her; we look at the pictures of our outings together; we imagine the fun we would have if you were here. I've been reading and hearing a lot about this book. It makes me so damn angry, and frustrated, that you are not here to visit tide pools, catch bugs, grow tomatoes, learn to swim, go camping, and sit quietly on the couch with us. I hate it for you, for her, and for me. We were robbed of something unspeakably precious. But I want you to know that you remain utterly precious to me, and, young as she is, to your daughter. (Last night we were discussing how boys have penises and girls have 'chinas out of which the baby emerges [at this point our discussion of female genitalia is pretty much entirely conducted with reference to childbirth, given our friends' recent wave of procreation]. She found it extraodinarily funny that her papa "had penises." I was forced to tell her that you had only one, like most of the other men she knows. Hey, I'm doing the best I can, here.
I love you as much as I ever did; maybe even more, since I never have any reason to think of all the ways in which you annoyed me (and me you). I miss you more, not less. And how did you manage to find us a tax preparer who must be in the service of the Russian Mafia? Nice move, Babe.
Love always,
Your wife
posted by Unknown @ 9:59 AM
7 Comments:
Just caught up on your last three emails.
As always, well said. And, as always, I don't have anything to say, really, but I like listening to you. I love hearing the stories of what your husband was like.
Hello,
I recently found your blog and while I hesitate to say I "enjoy" reading it (I wouldn't wish the sadness you're going through on anyone), I do admire your complete honesty and the transparency with which you write. You write very well.
I found your blog through snickollet's blog, which I found because I was searching for pancreatic cancer. We lost my husband's brother (43) to that horrible disease last year. My aunt has esophagal cancer and has a few months (weeks?) left with us at this point. I sit here wondering why I have felt so compelled to write you tonight and share these things with you. I can't say "I understand," but I can say "I feel." For you and your husband and daughter and for the crappy hand you've been dealt.
Your husband sounds wonderful and I have enjoyed getting to know a small part of his and your lives, and your daughter's. She sounds delightful, by the way.
Jen
Oh dear god, Dorcasina, I'm so so sorry. Your sorrow is unbearable, I know, yet you're forced to bear it because there is no other way.
I'm sending kind and loving thoughts your way. I've taken my blog down but if you ever feel like it, my email is over there.
So good, if so sad, to read your words.
I'm in the thick of inlaw troubles myself. You have all my empathy. One of my fears around losing GH is that because of the twins, I'm tied to his family forever. Sigh.
One of GH's biggest fears is that the twins won't remember him. You do an amazing job of keeping your husband a part of your daughter's life. It's beautiful.
Love to you.
I just linked to et al from Badger's site. Your eloquent posts communicate so poetically the tragedy you are living through.
Hugs to you and your daughter.
Thank you once again for sharing so deeply about yourself and your husband. I wish I had some words of comfort for you to offer.
Your daughter is so fortunate that you are her mom.
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