Neither me nor my former wife was ever really into Valentine's Day
It was certainly not the case that we weren't romantic types; we had a very passionate relationship in many ways, at least until she got sick (It is hard to feel very loving when you are also feeling like dried dog shit from the effects of chemotherapy and radiation). But we kind of lived Valentine's day every day; why should a holiday which we thought was mostly media and marketing hype get in the way of smoothly functioning dyad? We did cards and flowers and steamy sex and that was enough. So today's romantic holiday shouldn't be an especially strong trigger to me, particularly as I have had relationships break apart in the past on this very day.
Nevertheless, the diaries that appear in this groups are from those who have loved and grieved. Sounds almost like a tautology; who would mourn the loss of someone not loved? For the grieving a romantic holiday can be a trigger, even if it didn't mean all that much when the person was alive; to some the day means a great deal. And as I often insist, the emotions triggered are often complicated, not simple, because life is complicated and very few are truly simple.
Je suis desja d'amour tanné,
Ma tres doulce Valentinée
(I am already sick of love,
My very gentle Valentine,)
Charles d'Orléans, Rondeau VI, lines 1–2
Still, it is valentine's day. What is it that is in my heart? What is it in yours? What indeed is in the lover's heart?
Welcome, fellow travelers on the grief journey
and a special welcome to anyone new to The Grieving Room.
We meet every Monday evening.
Whether your loss is recent, or many years ago;
whether you've lost a person, or a pet;
or even if the person you're "mourning" is still alive,
("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time),
you can come to this diary and say whatever you need to say.
We can't solve each other's problems,
but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
Unlike a private journal
here, you know: your words are read by people who
have been through their own hell.
There's no need to pretty it up or tone it down..
It just is.
in the lover's heart there is regret
A long time ago, when I was less gray and much less experienced I met this young woman when I was posted to Korea with the army. This was when I was in my twenties and so was she. She was a native to the area, us having met through mutual friends. Her name was Kim Sun-hui, but I always and will continue to think of her as Sunny. As in her disposition, her outlook, and her warmth. Also, the passionate intensity of our love affair which did sort of burn like the sun. She knew enough English and I had picked up enough Korean to communicate, I guess. I got to see a lot of the country. Everything was so thrilling; so exotic. We saw each other whenever we could, which was a lot. I would spend the weekends with her, and she would occasionally come up to the post I was on, which was not quite in keeping with military regulations in a forward post, but Oh well, somehow the Army survived and the North Koreans never overran the place.
I think maybe I fell in love with her, which was strange since I hadn't felt that emotion for several years. But there was this inconvenient fact, this time limit: My posting only lasted one year, and then I was due to go back stateside and continue on with my career, which I needed to do. I could have taken her back with me, but I didn't, and at the time I had reasons that seemed valid at the time: What would she do back stateside while I was working the hours that I was? and did I really want a commitment at this stage of my life? Would we really be compatible long term, us being from such different cultures? And underneath it, deep down, I believe I was scared. I was scared of commitment to her; commitment at that time frightened me anyway. Scared in the way it might affect my career; scared as to how to handle this affection from someone who loved me maybe more than I loved her. Scared I might get her pregnant.
So I gave into fear. My deployment ended and we parted, for good; I have never spoken to her since. And I could feel the sadness as soon as we split and the fear ended but the sadness and the guilt started. I had to out process wearing sunglasses because my eyes were red. I felt like Pinkerton in Madame Butterfly. And for the record, I think the most heartbreaking aria in opera there is comes from that one: Un bel di, vedremo, when Butterfly fantasizes about seeing her beloved Pinkerton again, even though the rest of us know he is only coming to leave her forever. I still think about it, twenty years later.
That is why there is regret
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
In the lover's heart there is remembrance
Human beings are like the replicants in the science fiction film. We need memories. They are a part of who we are. The grieving process can make them painful, but I hold on to mine and don't give them up for a second, at least not the good ones. I used to think that way about the bad ones too, but now there are things I almost wish I could forget. But real bad memories are unforgettable. So there they are; I cling to the good memories, and can't get rid of the bad ones and there they stay.
See I can remember so much about her, my wife, my departed one, whom I met seven years later and who got me to fall in love again when I didn't think I ever would. Some of this I have diaries previously. There are a few I can choose at random. I remember the first time I made love to her, in a little used room where we both worked. I remember us going to baseball games in town. I remember us lying, naked and spent, on a secret beach on an island during Christmas day and thinking this is the best Christmas I will ever spend. I remember the way her smile lit up her face every time I walked into the room. I remember that we deliberately chose the most insipid, mawkish private name for each other, sort of as a joke, sort of as a statement.
And she knew about my past, my demons, my regrets. My intervening bad marriage, entered into because at least I wouldn't have to have my heart broken again. I'm not religious, but I told her once that I thought I was in a broken relationship and with exactly the wrong person as a spouse because I thought God was punishing me. Well, she said, taking my hand, maybe God decided that you have been punished enough.
And I think I mentioned that at her funeral I displayed the pictures of our happy times together, because that is how I wanted her remembered by everyone, as many people who came there hadn't really known her before she got sick, and being sick was so not her. To me she will always be the pretty nurse with the alluring voice and mincing way, and the amazing first kiss
I carry this remembrance. Valentines day isn't a bad time to think about it.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
In the lover's heart there is betrayal
Urban Dictionary: Betrayal: To turn on someone you trust, or to have someone do the same to you.
There is anger in sickness, there is hurt and lashing out. 'Greenberg' cliche: hurt people hurt people. And when the recurrence came and it had spread there was a nation of hurt to live in.
The drugs contribute to this. The living with pain, and underneath it all, the fear. They don't tell you about the fear in the cute little 'living with cancer' brochures; maybe they can't. " I never realized grief felt so much like fear" said C.S Lewis, and that is true. Nor do they tell you about the loneliness of the caretaker-spouse, the crises that have to be dealt with, the despair that comes with the realization that no, it's not going to be fucking OK.
And with it comes blame, irrational expectations, denial, depression. I do not know what could have been done and maybe the answer is nothing. All I know is that there was a period of lashing out when we seemed to be at pains to try and hurt each other. Accusations. Dwelling on past wrongs. bringing in as many hurtful, negative people into our relationship and our private love world as possible. One of the ways they break prisoners is by varying their treatment, so that one day life is easy, then harsh then easy and they never know when or why. And though I always loved her, and in many ways I think I did the best I could, there remains this, something hard to confront, something it took me a long long time to admit: That much of my pain came from watching everything I loved about her die first, before she actually died. Why did she have to die like that?
I don't blame her, I blame the disease, the cancer. If you think about it, cancer is the ultimate betrayal. It is your own cells, mercilessly spreading and dividing and trying to kill you. Her own cells betrayed her, and me.
So in my heart, I feel I know what betrayal is. I never ever want to feel anything close to that again.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
In the lover's heart there is conflict
Research has shown widely varying rates of re-partnering and re-marrying after a bereavement. There seem to be a number of reasons for it: the sex of the bereaved for one thing, as men have a higher rate than women, again, for a number of reasons. Its complicated.
I quote from an article written in the Annals of Clinical Psychiatry in 1996:
In this study we examined the following: (1) frequencies of remarrying or becoming romantically involved for widows and widowers during the first 2 years of widowhood; (2) attitudes toward dating and remarriage among the recently widowed, and their evolution; (3) identifiable factors which predict the development of new romances, such as sex, age, income, and level of education; and (4) the psychological well-being of those widows and widowers involved in romances compared to those who were not. The San Diego Widowhood Project was a prospective study in which 249 widows and 101 widowers who were identified through San Diego County death certificates completed detailed questionnaires 2, 7, 13, 19, and 25 months after their spouses' deaths. The main outcome measures for this study were marital and romance status, attitudes toward romance at several time points, demographic predictors of romance status, and self-reported measures of psychological well-being. By 25 months after the spouse's death 61% of men and 19% of women were either remarried or involved in a new romance. Women expressed more negative feelings about forming new romantic relationships. Younger age was a predictor of becoming involved in a new romance for women, and higher monthly income and level of education were predictors for men. Greater psychological well-being was highly correlated with being remarried or in a new romance 25 months after the spouse's death. It may be helpful for family, friends, and therapists to know that dating and remarriage are common and appear to be highly adaptive behaviors among the recently bereaved.
Schneider DS, Sledge PA, Shuchter SR, Zisook S Ann Clin Psychiatry. 1996 Jun;8(2):51-7
Perhaps I can fill in some blanks here: There are also the factors of what the previous relationship was like, how the spouse died, and who one meets afterward. As well as children, where one lives and so forth.
My mother, for example was widowed at a young age, because my father died of brain cancer (cellular betrayal, again) at age 42. Yeah, she remarried - 35 years later. It really took that long before she wanted to again, even though she lived with the man she eventually married for a long time. We never exactly had heart to heart discussions about it, but I do know she loved my father incredibly. He was truly the love of her life, she was devastated after he died, and I never got the sense growing up that she ever wanted to remarry. People have a way of shying away from experiences that cause them pain.
And I thought that way myself, after my wife's death. I didn't know how I was to raise my daughter, but one thing seemed very clear at the time: Never again. I'm not going through all this again. Never never. I was going to take such comfort as I could from bachelorhood, from my work, from my daughter, from my family, and wherever else it would be, but I felt the statement that is actually quite common among the bereaved "leave me alone".
But then this other woman came into my life…like much that is really important, it happens when you least expect it.
It was sort of work related how we met, but that is trivia. She had been married, gone through a painful divorce, only recently moved to the state I was living in; she knew a lot about my hometown and where I had gone to school. The kind of thing where a lunch date turns into a three hour conversation because it turns out you both have a lot in common and thus a lot to talk about. we said we would meet again.
So what the fuck am I doing here, getting involved again and why does this person want to be with me? Doesn't she know what I went through? Does she really want to get into this? I'd sooner expect someone to jump into a pool filled with razorblades. It's not sex or money or even good conversation. You can get those anywhere.
I should tell her, nicely, to go away. I'm not ready. It will all end in tears.
But we do have an awful lot in common. How the hell did she know where Skiff Street even was and that there was a House of Pancakes on it, place that I grew up eating?
Now all the foundation is set for another blossoming partnership, common interests, common political outlook, common religious outlook or more accurately lack thereof. She even has the exoticism of being born in a different country and a different culture. She is attractive, people hit on her in her work all the time.
And what is so hard to tell her, something it took many months to express is that no matter how good it is, in the beginning, it can always sour. I have lived it. Nothing is indestructible. I will never be fooled again into thinking that a marriage can endure anything if only the people in it love each other enough. How good things are in the beginning even after many months doesn't predict what will happen later. It will be pain all over again. I should tell her to go away.
But then there is this…I know regret. What happens if she does go away, and then 5 years later here I am and start to think about regret again. About missed opportunities because of fear. We are already involved, I have shared bed and bottle with her. And you know, I am starting on the second half of life, my time is running out here…I have a finite amount of years left to give to someone. But enough years to live with regret, that like grieving gets processed but never goes away.
I'm conflicted
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
And in the Lover's heart there is...
Maybe at this point I don't want to be alone quite as much as I did two years ago. It occurs to me there is something to be said for having someone else around, especially if that someone really gets you. . .and you think, of all the women I have been with, you are most like me. And I think I can understand you, perhaps better than your former spouse ever could or cared to.
Could there be something to the sentiment that maybe despite everything that happened we belong with each other?
Do you believe in karma? because if you do, this woman is certainly a karmic presence. her life seems to have paralleled mine, several places we were at the very same time, we just never formally met, maybe I even saw her without realizing or remembering it in Upstate New York many years ago, or in the apartment where I would go to on holidays because my mother was living there at the time, or on the New York City subway system.
You could almost say our lives were leading up to this.
So...
So it appears we are to be married this year. I don't know if it will work. I think it will. I hope it will.
Because in the lover's heart there is hope.