My Grief Observed - 3: Why you?
Dearest Sara,
In our marriage I don’t think I ever called you my beloved, or my dearest, or even things like honey or sweetie. Right? Maybe early on, before we married? I don’t know, I seem to be saying those things to you or when I talk about you now, but I guess it was usually just Jerry and Shakie before. All the way up to your final days - if you really needed me - Jerry was all you had to say. And if I was trying to comfort you or talk through an anxious moment - Shakie was a good way to bring us both back to calm familiarity.
Yeah those names just clicked. We tried others, but those stood the test of time. Crying out to you as Shakie right now isn’t leading to the same calming effect - since I’m not hearing you respond. But maybe if you are near, it is providing comfort and familiarity?
Anyway, sorry I got off track before I even got started.
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I’m not going to lie, life without you right now is strange. It is remarkably painful, but I suppose I knew that was coming. Yeah life without my beloved by my side is just… really confusing and weird.
But what can I expect? Starting in December 2004 - other than the short trips we both took to see extended family over Christmas break – we’ve been together almost completely. Yes, really from January 2005 to October 2021 – we’ve been inseparable.
Another one of those really tiny photos, this time from within the band library. Must have been your phone - I probably didn’t even have a cell phone yet.
Remember how right away I started working with you at part time jobs? I fondly recall helping you in the band library at MSUM, and in the nursery at First Lutheran – it was super cool to get paid to do these things all while hanging out with the girl of my dreams.
Remember when we first started working together at Walmart? Right away there was that silly overnight assistant manager who was super paranoid about letting us work in the same department/area. I wonder what they thought we’d do - slack off, joke around, maybe make out? Instead, we just kicked ass, and it shut them up pretty quick. But I loved how we would “accidentally” brush our hands together frequently when we were walking to the break room as though we were being such rebels, haha. Good times.
It was cool that we continued to work together at various jobs literally all the way through 2016 – mostly at Integreon. And some thought that a young couple working jobs together would be a mistake. Ha! The reality is we always made a good team - and extra hours together in jobs like these didn’t ruin our relationship, they strengthened our foundation. In our marriage, in games, in jobs. We weren’t perfect, but we always complemented each other’s skills, or had valuably different perspectives that seemed to just work.
OK sorry, again I got even further off track.
We started school at the same time, and yeah I took longer to graduate. But hey it gave me a chance to propose to you later that night!
But my point with the quick reminiscing is that I think I’ll need you to be patient with me as I grieve your departure. In our many years together, there were so many thoughts I would have, words I would speak, or actions I would take throughout a given day that were directed toward you, about you, with you, or in some way meant to impact you directly or indirectly. That is to say that we were so heavily linked in our day to day then – that days right now are just… sooo different. My mind is struggling with constant triggering of that muscle memory to see where you are, ask for your advice, try to offer you some kind of help, or to just talk BS. And atrophy hasn’t even remotely set in yet.
People have said that losing a spouse can feel like losing a limb. I certainly can’t comment on what it feels like to lose a limb, but I do get the idea. It is like I have forgotten how to do everything, and I have to rebuild my life and relearn how to be a person. Like I’m reverting to my low 20s again.
As you recall, my watch is supposed to vibrate when I get new notifications on my phone. Whenever it’s going off right now - I kid you not - for the first second I quickly look over and think that it might be you texting and that I need to hurry and see what’s up. I mean once my brain kicks in, it obviously wouldn’t be you. Clearly my subconscious needs plenty of time too.
What about you?
I do wonder what it is like for you right now. Are you grieving your separation from me and all of your loved ones? Or are you well on your way experiencing what’s next, and you might think we all just need to be patient and we’ll see you soon enough?
1 in 25 people are diagnosed with colorectal cancer in their lifetime
I certainly hope and believe that you are no longer suffering in the way that you were forced to suffer at the end of your life. Ugh, I’m so sorry that you had to go through any of that experience at all.
I wish that you didn’t have to be one of 4% of people (1 in 25) that are diagnosed with colorectal cancer in their lifetimes, and one of the only 2% (1 in 50) of those who get it under the age of 35 where there certainly aren’t screening options available and colorectal cancer is the last thing on your mind, or your doctor’s mind.
2 out of 3 young onset colorectal cancer patients had to see three or more doctors before diagnosis
On that note - it would have been great though if you didn’t have to be one of the 67% of young onset patients that had to see three or more doctors about your symptoms before you finally got a diagnosis.
I wish, with all that I have - and beyond all I’ve said - that you didn’t have to be one of the ~30% of stage III colorectal cancer patients whose cancer returns even after successfully completing the gold standard treatment regimen including curative radiation, surgery, and chemotherapy. You did everything right. We were even eating better and exercising.
And yet still when it came back, we were so hopeful that you could have been one of the 20-50% (1 in 2 to 1 in 5 range) of oligometastatic (few metastases limited to one organ) CRC patients whose cancer was cured after liver mets resection.
And after all of that, I guess I’m not surprised that we refused to give up on the dream that somehow you still could have been one of the few stage IV CRC patients who managed to be cured. We tried. You fought so long and hard.
Dear God though... Especially being separated from the whole experience by three weeks now - in retrospect that all sounds like a string of the worst, horribly crap bad luck. Like the odds of all of that working out like this and you passing this early in your life – it’s incredible really. In my anger moments, I think just the whole unlikeliness of this all is my primary target. Why you?
Why you?
Why did it have to happen to you? You were one of the good ones. The great ones.
You were a radiant example of what it means to be a good person, you were always kind, empathetic, and generous-hearted. By generous-hearted I mean that you openly shared your love, joy and faith with so many people. You inspired us and helped many of us become better humans. So why are these the qualities that apparently lead to a fate that ought to be reserved for the wicked?
Well… I know that’s not at all how this works. But that doesn’t mean I’ll accept it any time soon.
Or that I’ll stop kicking myself for not somehow getting you in to a doctor (or doctors if required) earlier, long before you finally got your diagnosis. ‘Malarkey!’ as I seem to say sometimes, because I think I’m funny - as if I had a clue what you were dealing with. Of course I would have done something sooner if I knew. Like Kenny Rogers - If I knew then what I know now…
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I’ve had this silly fear recently that I’d forget certain things about you. It isn’t really so much ‘forget’ – that isn’t really the right word for this. It’s just more like I am worried that my fixations on certain memories could lead to an incorrect balance in my mind of who you were, how you acted, or how annoyed you were with me at certain times (haha). Just kidding, I know you loved me. You kindly reminded me of that!
Oops I digressed again – it’s just that I’m worried that my memory of who you were won’t be a proper construct of you as a complex and intellectual and emotional counterpart who could one minute melt my heart or in another minute inspire me to do more for the world, and at the same time you could always make a case for the common sense or practical solution to our most significant problems. It’s true, I would often overthink it – this was another great example of how you and I could work so well as a team.
I’m also realizing this particular ‘forget’ worry or the shroud of broken heart amnesia as I called it - is just another part of the many waves of grief that I am experiencing and will experience. All part of the plan my brain seems to have for processing such a sizeable trauma as losing you.
Even if my subconscious doesn’t automatically focus on the years after your diagnosis - I always fondly recall countless great and memorable times we all had together and I’m thankful for every day.
More Time
Recently I was chatting with a friend who suggested that it made sense that my brain would fixate on significant past memories as a way to sort of extend my time with you - albeit within in my imagination. This sounds like a pretty accurate representation. I - and my subconscious mind - are desperately trying to figure out how to be with you, and somehow get more time with you at whatever cost. And at the same time – until I wrote this letter and thought about how likely all of this cancer stuff was to happen to you - my mind has avoided too much fixation on the years after your diagnosis. Not because I loved you or our lives together any less during those years, but because in my memories of those times it would fearfully include the reality of your rectal cancer’s existence. Literally, rectal cancer was something that never even crossed our minds once until September of 2016. So, before that, the cancer must not have been there… Right?
It just depends on the day right now though. I think I’ll just have to deal with the occasional, maybe frequent waves of grief that could lead to the shroud. Other days it brings extended bouts of sobbing. Other days it leads to a deep sadness that I would describe as feeling muted or decolorized, starkly empty and cold, and at least a little hopeless. But it’s more like I’m stuck and disoriented than hopeless. So I have that going for me, which is nice.
Otherwise the good news is I don’t think I am in any danger of truly forgetting much about you anytime soon. With probably a half-dozen Sara related projects ongoing I’m way too focused on finding the right ways to honor your memory and legacy to conceivably forget much. And to be honest I’ll probably have to pull back a little, or else I’ll just be working on honoring your legacy as my day job for the next few decades.
I love you so much Shakie. I’ll keep working on living all out life. Feel free to send me some more signs when you want to.
Love,
Jerry