More observations from beyond the timeline

I was looking at some photos from last summer and realized that a little over a year has passed since we saw Rush in concert. That was a show I'd looked forward to for months, and like a little kid waiting for summer vacation to start, it felt like the days leading up to the show lasted forever. And then, like most things you can't wait to experience, it felt like it was over in a flash.

Often when you think back on an event you enjoyed a great deal you feel like it was just yesterday. It's so fresh in your memory that it seems impossible that any time could have passed. I don't get that feeling when I look back at the concert. I can still remember it vividly, and it was enjoyable, but I don't feel like last July was just a few weeks ago.

I wonder why some events are experienced in the moment and pass into memory without a struggle, yet others freeze time. Time was still passing normally last summer, I experienced it just like everyone else. In fact it feels like it has been forever since last July, like so much time has passed that it can't have been just a year ago.

November, on the other hand, that was just last week.

Time loops.

12 full weeks have passed. That amazes me, I can't imagine how 12 weeks have passed by already. Sometimes it doesn't even feel like 12 hours could have passed.

I don't feel any different. Some days are good. More often I think I feel worse than ever.

You occasionally hear people talk about someone who was widowed, who died soon after their spouse. People say they died of a broken heart. I thought I would. I was sure I would. 

But it didn't happen. I'm still here.

And I go on.

Infinite Time

I thought we'd have more time. More time for vacations. More time for photos. More time to live our lives to the fullest and make our dreams come true.

treasured time

I feel like my life was interrupted and just isn't back on track yet. I look at my phone and expect to see a text from him. I wonder, briefly, if he's left work. He always called when he was on his way home, to give me a ETA in case I needed to start dinner, and just to talk about the day. I miss him calling in the middle of the afternoon because he'd had a sudden idea about some project we could start and he was so excited he had to tell me right away. I continue to expect to find him somewhere in the house, standing in the kitchen or sitting on the couch watching TV. I have a hard time moving things around because in the back of my head there's a voice saying "No, he might still need to use this." I miss his physical presence in my life.

 I miss being wrapped up in his hugs.

 I'm thinking about him constantly. I find the happy few minutes every day, but I'm hit with chest crushing, screaming, pounding my fists on the floor grief at unpredictable moments. I look at photos that span the past few years, from our first date to just a few days before he died, and in all of them he is so alive, so present, so full of hope and dreams and goals for the future. It feels impossible that he isn't here to carry out his plans. I cry when I think of the things he was planning to learn, because he will not have that chance now.

I miss hearing him talk about all of his ideas for the future. I miss laying in bed and talking about what we hoped we'd do in the coming years. I miss that so much that I'm constantly fighting off the feeling that if he isn't here to help visualize our hopes and dreams and goals then there's no point in dreaming big, it's easier to just give up and accept a mundane life and never try anything new again.

A friend had mentioned things he'd hoped we could all still do together, and commented that this reminds us that our time here is brief. I agree. I'd always believed there would be time, endless amounts of it, to be together, to enjoy each other's company. Time felt infinite in relation to all of our goals. There would always be time to plan for things, time to learn new skills, time to work on hobbies, time to pursue our dreams and make them come true. And of course if there is always time to do something tomorrow then there's no need to worry about it today. A belief in infinite time fed our procrastination, even though we vowed to make changes they would always be for another day. Today would be spent watching a movie or two, or surfing for another hour, or doing nothing in particular until it's time to fall asleep.

Jeff called this time traveling. Rise in the morning, do your work, eat, watch TV, go to sleep. Repeat the same routine every day without varying it, never trying to break free of that pattern, and never feeling as though you've accomplished anything. We each spent a lot of time doing this, moving through the day without making any attempt to work on our plans. This was what we wanted to break free of. We wanted to stop traveling through time and start living in it.

The desire to wait until tomorrow to start something is very strong in me, and this will be a hard lesson to work on. Between the two of us we had a lot of things we hoped to accomplish, a lot of dreams we thought we could make come true for ourselves. Some of those I will continue to hold, some will be replaced by new goals and dreams as I try to rebuild my own life from the ground up. Some will always remain daydreams, but some are attainable if I am willing to put in the time and effort to pursue them.

As I sit here Jeff is gazing at me from a dozen different frames, smiling gently, encouraging me. I'm going to try to manifest the optimism we had that we would one day be doing great things, but now I will try to couple it with action. Optimism is lovely, but unless I take action I won't accomplish much. I have high hopes that in six months I'll be reporting that I'm well on my way to achieving my goals. Time will tell. Hopefully I will make good use of it.

(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)

Time

I’m wondering if every Friday evening I’m going to be marking time by what I was doing on November 1, and remembering how until almost nine o’clock at night it was all okay, the world made sense, life held promise, and I could still put my arms around my husband and hold him and know that we would be together forever.

I haven’t cleared my phone history, so I know exactly when I called 911. It was 8:54pm. 8:54 when things suddenly became so terrifying that I knew he needed help. 8:54pm when I began to have the first flares of panic as I worried about what would happen and the world began to crumble around me.

Sometimes time seems to stand still, but as I look back on that night it feels like it moved at breakneck speed. The paramedics arrived, gave him oxygen, everything seemed to be improving. He was having a lot of trouble moving without getting out of breath, but they got him into the ambulance and he was stable. He was talking with them, giving them the information they needed. He was still stable and talking as he entered the ER, it wasn't until after they brought him in that his heart stopped. Because I’d have had no way to get home I chose to follow the ambulance in my car instead of riding along. I regret that deeply, I regret that I wasn't able to sit with him and spend his last alert moments holding his hand, trying to lend him energy, just being with him. I feel like I abandoned him, and I will always wonder if my presence would have made any difference. Or maybe I just grieve for myself, that I didn't have the chance to hear his voice one more time, that I couldn't kiss him on the cheek and embed that in my memory. That I couldn't hear him tell me he was going to be fine, he was always fine, he could overcome anything. What if I had just went with him... These are things I realize I can never know, but I will always ask myself those what if questions.

By the time they brought me into the ER they knew it was too late, they’d sent a Chaplain and a nurse to prepare me, and I know they were just bringing me in so I could be there at the end, with him. He was unconscious by then, but they still worked furiously on him. I've never been so terrified in my life, I felt like i was outside myself, but I didn't fall apart. I held his hand tight, I kept rubbing his right leg because I could reach him, and I needed to do something. I wanted him to know i was there, even though I couldn't tell. I wonder if he knew I was holding his hand as they tried to restart his heart, I wonder if some part of him heard me talking to him, telling him how much I loved him. People who have had near-death experiences talk about seeing themselves in the ER, observing what’s going on. I wonder, did he see me there, with him? Could he feel how much I loved him?

Three weeks have passed. It still feels I just spoke to him a moment ago, and the entire event still feels like it has to be a dream. Someday, maybe, I will stop marking the days by how much time has passed, and maybe the feeling that it is unreal won’t be as strong. For now, though, I look at the clock and all I can think is that three weeks ago, at this moment, there was still joy in my life.

(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)