It feels like a very dark day for me.
People should not cancel on new widows. (Am I still new?) We've had enough plans cancelled.
All emotions lie in the same part of the brain so it makes sense that my grief overflows when any other emotion is touched upon. Anxiety at the dentist? Turns into tears. Disappointment over a cancelled outing? Tears. It's like adding just a tiny bit of water to a tub that is already as full as it can be. It all spills over.
I think the word drown is a hideous word. In the past tense it is even fouler. Awkward to say. Long and forced like it should've been an exception to the "ed" rule but it was forgotten. We were talking about ugly words right before you left remember? I told you I thought pubic would rate pretty high on my list of ugly words. We discussed sound and meaning/connotation. All of the above.
I didn't think it wise to compare deaths- like would I have wanted you to have an illness where you were in the hospital for a year? At least then we would've gotten to say goodbye? It didn't seem wise to do this. Each death, tragedy, is its own being. How can you compare or say which is worse or better? But lately, I am so sad that there was nothing- no goodbye- no be well...I'll always love you...I'm so sorry...nothing. That I am leaning towards thinking a longer illness is "better?" Not better- less bad- as a friend told me she likes to say. It feels like there can be no closure because I can't discuss this with you- as I have every other important event in my adult life.
A woman whose young son is very ill feels a connection with me and I with her. I am rooting for them because they still have hope. I am angry I did not get that with you Dan. Just a phone call announcing: no hope.
Or is there an excess of hope somewhere else- invisible? I've been meditating a lot on hope lately- I think it's peculiar to humanity- I doubt there is any other animal hoping. But we do...we hope.
Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher death, and God adore.
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never is, but always to be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man