60 days ago Art died. 64 days ago he lost consciousness. 65 days ago I spoke to him on the phone. 66 days ago I cried with him when he told me they needed to admit him again.
It feels like I've been here for 165 or 365 or 1065 days. This quagmire is deep.
When I think of him, and us, in the future, I can't tell how much of that is true and how much of that is made up, a fantasy of sorts.
Our marriage was falling apart.
That's one of the dirty little secrets I am left with.
When someone close to you dies, they leave you with these secrets. These little shameful secrets and you carry them around with you and you think of it whenever someone unknowingly talks about the thing that leads to the secret.
That was one of ours. We were heading for divorce.
It started before the first bout with cancer and then we just ran around trying to plug holes to keep the boat afloat.
The re-occurrence had the same effect as that stuff you pour into your car. It clogs the leaks in the engine but also gums it up. It prolongs the workings but it's only a matter of time before it will needs to be replaced.
And now when I think of Art, I remember how God awful much I loved him. I don't remember the disappointments, the sadness, the estrangement.
And that makes his loss that much harder. I fantasize about a good marriage that would have been had he not died. But I am lying to myself. It doesn't feel like a lie.
It's like I have two opposing emotions.
The loss is gigantic.
I think this is where angles come from. We don't think of the bad parts of the angles, only the good part.
If he is an angel in death, then I feel far less than holy.
I feel unworthy and crappy. I am left with the guilt, the anger, the shame. He's left looking like an angel.
The question for me is:
Can I reconcile my feelings of loss with the truth of where we were in our marriage? Are they even reconcilable?
God, there has to be away. This is a bag I do not wish to carry.