Two anniversaries

Two friends celebrated their fiftieth anniversary this weekend. Several of us went to mass with them, then spent the afternoon at a local restaurant eating and laughing together. I smiled, hugged them both, and felt some happiness for them. No one mentioned Friday was 55 months since Jane died. I don’t think anyone remembered. Nor did I expect them to. It would have soured everything.

I don’t fear death.

It’s amazing how good I have become at hiding pain when I need to. My friends were surrounded by an aura of joy and I knew I must do nothing to damage that moment. They are not young and I worry about their health. I want them to suck up and enjoy every minute of couple-hood they can get.

Pain-filled realities

I try to be good at anniversaries, birthdays and the other celebrations in people’s lives. I know too well what it is to face Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Halloween alone. I understand too well what it is to have no one to share the hummingbird’s return with or the small joys of a freshly finished landscaping project. I know what it is to face every day alone.

It would have soured everything.

There is an underlying tragedy awaiting every pair of soul mates. Sooner or later, one half of that partnership dies. And it is painful on both sides. I remember Jane’s tears when I told her there was nothing left to do–nothing left to try. I know what every day is like for me. I begin and end every day alone and empty.

Celebrating the big and the small

Last September we would have celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary. The day passed unremarked by anyone other than me. Last November, Jane would have turned 60. I took a card and some flowers to her grave. If anyone else remembered, they didn’t tell me.

I try to be good at anniversaries…

And I don’t expect people to remember those dates any more than I expect them to remember the anniversaries of her death. They are the kinds of things that couples take joy and sorrow in. The rest of the world has its own joys and sorrows. While both halves of a couple are still alive they need–and deserve–to enjoy the days they have, no matter how big and no matter how small.

The nature of couples

Jane and I did that. We sucked the marrow out of every bone the gods tossed our way. We shared not just a bed and a house, but a life as well. I have days I wish I had not loved her so deeply. I have days, still, where I cry myself to sleep, days where I hold the pillow she slept on to my nose, hoping to pick up even the slightest hint of her presence.

Last November, Jane would have turned 60.

My friend talked Sunday about his wife being his right arm. I understood what he was trying to say–but the truth always seems like hyperbole. His wife, like Jane to me, is more than a right arm. She is half of all he is–just as he is half of all she is.

A touch of envy

I won’t pretend I am not both bitter and envious. I very much want the things they have–the years they have enjoyed together since Jane and I celebrated their twenty-fifth anniversary with them less than a year after we were married. I desperately wanted–and needed–Jane with me there on Sunday as a warm, physical presence.

Last November, Jane would have turned 60.

Jane always said we would not reach our silver anniversary unless we counted in dog years. My response was always that we would–that we wouldn’t be that old–62 and 59. Fifty years might be a stretch, but given our genetics, even that seemed possible.

Fighting Death

Loss hurts. Death does not kill just the person we bury. It kills the couple, as well. I am not the same person I was when Jane was still alive. I am, in some ways, a colder and more bitter man. In others, I am kinder and more compassionate.

I very much want the things they have…

I have seen Death in my beloved’s eyes, been so close that I could feel the rustle of his robes, smell the pleasant stench of his presence, and hear the whisper of his scythe. I know what it is to try to stop Death–and I know what it feels like to fail.

Moving forward, alone

I don’t fear death. It is a long time since I did. But I am not anxious for it either. People talk about seeing their loved ones again and how happy they will be when that happens. The possibility holds no fascination for me. Jane and I were about making this world better. I still am. That work is not finished. It would profane all that we were if I abandoned that task.

I have seen Death in my beloved’s eyes…

So I keep trying to move forward. I get up every morning. I make the bed. I shower. I shave. I have breakfast. I do whatever work is before me every day. And I celebrate the milestones in other people’s lives, hoping the memories we create on those days will help sustain them in the days when half of who they are is no longer present.