Unfinished business
When I went to visit my sweetie’s family and friends in September, his sister shared with me that while they’d received a preliminary report of cause of death (“advanced heart disease”), the full autopsy report hadn’t been released yet, and they tended to take a long time. She said would make sure I would get a copy once it was available, which I wanted, and I expressed my appreciation for her offer. Also, as far as I know, there has been no disposition of his ashes. Whether the status of either of these issues has changed, I don’t know. Communication is spotty at best, and in California they’re putting a high premium on “moving on,” so for me to ask about either without being given an obvious opportunity in a logical context seems difficult to me. I suppose I have nothing to lose by asking. It’s not like anyone is clamoring for my good favor, as I am for theirs. Perhaps they are righter in their inconsideration than I am in my deference.
To me, it’s still unfinished business of a strange sort. On the one hand, do I really need to read what is sure to be a cold forensic piece of reportage of a cold forensic procedure the incision for which alone is enough to give me nightmares, let alone all the details of what comes after? On the other hand, I want to see the evidence of this heart disease, so invisible, that killed my sweetie, so that I can believe what my eyes never told me was there.
As for the ashes, I have to admit, I am glad he was cremated. That was his choice, and the family followed up on it. I would hate to think of him encased in a box in the ground, and surrounded by a vault, even as I know it’s not him—it’s just his body. I know he is not in that urn, either. I know he left that body as soon as it betrayed him. Or evicted him, in any case. He was free. But I don’t like the ashes in a jar. They should be set free. I have some ideas as to where he might like them dispersed, but no one has asked me.
Whether it makes sense or not, I feel like I need these aspects of his death settled before I can totally focus on the potential new life he’s enjoying on the other side, and the potential new life I’m trying to find on this side. They are pieces of death that I want taken care of, although I cannot really say why they are so important to me.
The biggest lesson in all this that I have been offered over and over since he passed is the lesson of letting go of the material and impermanent and recognizing what is truly real, and lasting. And maybe in these two symbols, I am still grasping for answers and closure that are just not available. And yet, still I reach for it, aching for control of a situation I haven’t had control of since the moment I started worrying about him. Indeed, I have never had control over anything but myself, since the day I was born, although I have held many, many illusions to the contrary. I knew that. I know that. But the lesson keeps being driven deeper and deeper into my soul. If I ever truly understand it, it will free me. I believe that.
I have been forced to let go of so many expectations, not the least of which that A would be with me for many, many years, as he’d promised and I’d hoped. I’ve had to let go of the hope of hanging on to him through his family friends, who have done the best they can, or care to, and we are highly unlikely to ever become close. I’ve had to let go of the hope of holding on to him through his material possessions, none of which seem to be coming my way. Oddly, once I really accepted that they would not, I looked around my spaces and realized that I had many more things that he’d given me, that he’d touched, or that were connected to him or to the two of us, than I realized. I am not without mementos like I thought I was. I have had to let go of my vision of a future that included him actively, yet I feel him with me constantly. I’ve started to let go of the pain, which was not what our relationship was about, and realized that I am left with the love, which seems right—it WAS what our relationship was about. I have had to let go of my impression of reality, and in exchange have recognized a reality far more expansive, inclusive, and continuous than my previous impression could’ve ever accommodated.
Some moments I panic, and try to pull all of those previous beliefs back in, hang on tightly to what I know, even if there’s a wiser part of me that knows it’s inaccurate and unhelpful. The devil you know and all that. It’s hard to let go of everything at once, but I find that in order to let go of the pain, the excruciating pain of wishing things were other than they are, I have to let go of the rest. Every “should” is an arrow in my back. Every “if only” a lash of the whip. Every “supposed to” is a cutting knife. I know it’s true, because on the days when I sink into deep contemplation of all of these, I end up wracked with sobs, awash in tears, and littered with used snotty Kleenexes. The pain is caused by expectations that creak and crumble, unable to withstand the force of reality. What will not bend will break. That is not to say that I have not suffered, or will not again. However, I am aware that my eternal suffering is not the proper memorial for the man I loved, a man who brought me so much joy.
On my better days, I understand two things very clearly: 1) that our love continues, unquestionably, and on that count I have lost nothing. It appears to be different to the eye, but that’s just the surface. To the soul, it is identical; love is the one constant in the universe. It is the universe. And 2) that my missing him continues, unquestionably, and that’s just the way it is. I’m not going to beat myself up for that. It’s manageable, most of the time, even if it is omnipresent. (I say that now; we’ll see where all my equanimity is the next time a bad spell comes around.)
I think a lot about what his life might’ve become if his heart condition had become known. While I might still have him, and would be more than glad for it, there is no guarantee of that. And I know that even if we’d had 20 years, I’d feel exactly the same as I do, hurt as much as I have. There’s no such thing as “enough” where there is love. And I think about what it would’ve done to this active, vibrant man to have to be so careful of everything; to take handfuls of meds when he was loath to take an aspirin; to have to give up his physical work that he loved; to maybe have lost his shop while he was laid up recovering from the bypass surgery that he surely would’ve had to have, and possibly have to rely on others to support and care for him…well, he would’ve had his heart, but it would’ve broken just as surely. He would’ve hated it. The man hated the fact that he had to wear glasses in his “old age,” and the bifocals were just an added insult. He would’ve hated a chronic health condition even more. And if I were to weigh the options of his misery in life, or my misery because of his death, I would choose exactly what I have ended up with. That’s what love does; love wants what’s best for the loved one, even if it’s not best for me. If there’d been a misery-free option, obviously I would’ve chosen that, but given that the heart disease was a fact, it would’ve had to have been dealt with.
So I am just going to live, accepting whatever comes instead of trying to predict it, control it, or take on the impossible task of trying to protect myself from it, and not worry about tomorrow, which is slightly different than “living like there’s no tomorrow.” The latter implies a certain urgency that I don’t feel. All I have to do is be me, whoever that is. I don’t have to know who it is. I cannot know the truth; I can only live it.