The Bracelet
When A’s sister showed up to the concert in his honor without the bracelet, and no further word on the possibility of it coming to me, I didn’t have the heart to ask again. To say I was disappointed would be a major understatement; however, I wasn’t surprised. I debated myself long and hard about approaching his soon-to-be-ex-wife for it myself, directly, and received kind encouragement from my grief group that I would not be wrong in doing so. In fact, it might be a blessing to let A’s sister off the hook from a task that would be sensitive, to say the least.
I went back and forth on it, and then my answer came in a blog post from a widower friend who is struggling with dealing with his inlaws some 9 months after his wife’s passing. The situations were not the same, but it didn’t matter. I felt the answer click inside of me: No. Not worth it.
I would love to have the bracelet, and I do believe I’m entitled to it. There’s no question in my mind that that’s the case. But I asked myself if it was worth discomfiting a woman I don’t know, a woman who is no doubt dealing with her own grief, with all the emotional rollercoaster that entails (and which I know only too well). Whether I think she “deserves” to be aggrieved is beside the point.
I asked myself how much better I would feel in having that bracelet. As I look around this room, I see many things that were his, that were gifts from him to me, or that I have gotten since his passing to be symbolic of his things I cannot have, and many, many photos of him. And as much as I’m glad to have them, I cannot say they soothed my soul in the having. They did not take away the sting of his absence, much like a life preserver doesn’t take the sting out of your ship sinking. I cannot say that having one more “thing,” however meaningful, will make me miss him any less. And when I weigh the potential drama and discomfort of my asking his ex for the bracelet against its negligible possibility for comfort, it seems the answer is clear enough. I have to let it go. It’s tying me to people, at least mentally, who do not care about me. It’s tying me to pain. It’s tying me to loss, of which I’ve had more than enough. And in the end, having it will not fix everything that hurts inside me.
I know widows who live surrounded by all their beloved’s things, and it makes no difference. They are no luckier, no happier than I because they have them. It is the absence of the lover that weighs heavy on a woman’s heart, and the presence of his things are as often painful as they are soothing. It is the man I miss, and the bracelet will not bring him back.
When I made that decision, I felt better, again, like some unpleasant business was finished. I cannot have everything I want as I want it; finding a way to live with that reality with grace and to let go of what does not serve me…that’s what I’m trying to do. The love is there; our love lives as surely as I do in this life, and he does in the next. That’s all that matters.