After the scream

It's been two weeks since the visit to Deb's grave. I think I'm ready to say there has been acceptance.

I tried talking to her once or twice, but she's not answering. I know she can hear me, but she and I know it's time to go beyond that kind of communication. She speaks to me through feelings and memories, not with her presence.

We continue to have a relationship, and there's no breaking that up. But I'm still here, and I have things to do, people to see and odd bits of poetry to write. And she knows it, so she's let me know it's time to go on. I'll see her on up the road.

I'll still write here. There are still stories to tell about Deb and me. But I'll be doing it less out of a sense of obligation than for pleasure. Thinking about her doesn't make me cry anymore. She never did anything that caused me pain while she was here, and that will always be true.

Thanks, Sweetie.

The scream

There I was, standing over Deb's grave.

I was talking to her as I have been for the past nine months, telling her what I'd been doing, how the cats were doing, the usual things.

Then I read her tombstone.

It was the first time I had been there with the headstone in place. Seeing her name, her birthdate and the day she died in stone ... suddenly, it was real.

My wife is dead.

I don't know if I've been holding back as a defense mechanism, because I didn't want to truly face it, or if somewhere in my mind I was still hoping someone would tell me it's all been a horrible understanding, but I finally felt it click.

Deb's not coming back.

I started weeping. First a few sniffles, then a few tears, then full body heaves.

Then I screamed.

I didn't mean to scream. I just didn't know what else to do. There was no other way to express what I was feeling.

I don't know how to describe it except, and I don't mean this as a joke, it was like when Christopher Reeve screamed after Margot Kidder died in the first Superman movie.

It was a moment of total agony, and the only way I could let it out was a scream.

I went blind. I was in a rage. I put everything I had into that scream.

Then it stopped. I had nothing else to give. Or maybe I've exorcised the demon of grief that's been possessing me.

I won't say I felt better, but I did feel something resembling relief.

I don't feel Deb's presence any more. It's too early to say I've really let her go, but it's starting to feel that way. That's not to say I won't talk to her every now and then, or that she won't come to see me in my dreams, but I'm finally ready to say she's not here. And she's not going to be, except in my mind and spirit.

Everything has a price, and I guess the price I have to pay to move on with my life is to let her be a part of my past, and the best way to honor her is by making a future.

Perhaps this is acceptance.

Or perhaps just the echoes of a scream.

The shrine

I have a shrine to Deb in a corner of the dining room. Seemed like a good place for one.

On the wall on top, of course, is THE photo. You can read about it here.

Beneath that is a photo of Deb with an elephant. She wrote a story about a circus when she was reporting in Miami, and she always talked about getting to ride the elephant. Going through her things, I found the negative of this shot of her reaching for the elephant's trunk. It was such a cool shot, I couldn't help getting a copy.

The Winnie the Pooh dolls were bought one by one. I bought most of them at Wal-Mart on the way home from work, then I'd surprise her with them. The Kanga doll I had to get on eBay, the Owl doll she bought herself at Disney World.

The Muppet Statler and Waldorf dolls were presents to me from her. She knew how much I like the Muppets, and I think she was eventually going to get me a whole set.

Under the Eeyore doll is a smaller Eeyore that's actually part of a hair scrunchy Deb liked to wear.

The toy Mini Coopers I got her for Christmas. She kept saying she wanted a Mini Cooper for Christmas, so I got her two. She got a third one from her mother, but it got lost.

The glasses cases have her glasses in them. Her wallet is in the coin bowl, along with her asthma huffer, the watch I gave her and, strangely enough, a bunch of coins.

The mug is from the last trip we took to Disney World. The thing next to it is a candle from Grand Turk that I bought on the cruise we were going to take together.

In the background you'll notice the sofa is in the process of being demolished by the cats. The process was started long ago by Boo Kitty. I figure it's a lost cause, so I let the cats go to town on it.

I suppose if I started dating I'd have to take it down or find a less-conspicuous place for it. For now, I usually sit on the floor across from it, look up at THE picture and tell her how my day went. And she listens. And all is right with the world.