#minnewidow

Dear Marcus,

Happy Birthday my love... Happy 30th Birthday to you.  You have achieved so much in your 30 years.  Look around you, there are so many people who love you and this is a reflection of the man you are and of the difference you make on the lives of your loved ones.  You were focused throughout school and made a difference in the lives of people wishing to stay fit, and to get fit.  You are one of the most patient people I know, even when I don’t want you to be.  You don’t always need to talk to EVERY solicitor or sales person at the mall!  I wish I was as patient as you.  You are patient with me.  Thank you for that.  

In your 30 years, you trusted your gut and made it through so much.  We made it through so much together and I love you for how you made me feel.  I love that you always have believed in me, and I am stronger because of you.  You actually realized what you wanted to be in life and committed to more school.  I know that was a lot to swallow but you have always been the best caregiver and this world was made better the day you became a nurse.  You are the only man I know who could complete a round of intense chemotherapy and then come home to a newborn baby, getting up with me in the wee hours to bounce Neva around the dark living room.  

I keep thinking back to our trip to Hawaii, when we decided we wanted to start a family.  Nearly 2 years ago, I still remember how special that trip was.  I remember you saying that whenever you felt like absolute shit, when you were losing your hair and the full effects of chemo were the only thing you could think about, you thought of Hawaii.  You thought of the blue water, the smell of salt water and late nights we spent dreaming of our baby.  We now know this baby, our Neva.   I can’t believe this little lady we have on our hands.  You would be so proud of her walking.  She actually runs, more than walks.  I cringe every time she gains momentum and fear she is going to face plant, or fall onto a corner and split her beautiful face.  

We used to joke that your in-patient chemo was equivalent to you being out of town on a work trip.  We reminded ourselves that many couples had brief bouts of distance due to work travel and that we were lucky if your 5 days at Fairview  Southdale were the only routine absences we had to swallow.  

Well this loss is nothing like an extended work trip.  

I wish I could continue writing to you in the present, as if I could scoot closer to you on the couch and give you a big kiss and push aside all of my sorrow.  Now my numerous memories of hugs and kisses will have to be enough and even then, I wonder if it will actually be enough.  I feel like I am breaking apart and that I am walking around like a Zombie.  I can still smell you with every deep breath I take and as much as I don’t want to, I continuously roll over hoping to find you next to me in bed.  The disappointment is too much to bear.

I have enclosed a picture of us on our last “Date Night” on Lake Minnetonka.  We sailed into the Sunset and I remember being so fucking happy, thinking “Marcus will be ok.  We can be ok”.  On your Birthday, I will remember the 21 years we spent arguing over which one of us got the “MEA weekend” to celebrate our respective Birthdays.  I usually won because I had the outdoor trampoline and let’s face it, the woman always wins.  Today I will think of you and only you and will miss you with each passing minute.  

Enough about how sad I am.  Happy Birthday to the best man, father, friend, and companion I know.  You deserve all of the happiness in the world and I am a better person because of you.  May you feel all of the blessings this world has to offer.  I always hoped that at 30 we would be together, celebrating in Vegas and although a plane ride isn’t waiting, I feel you.  I love you Marcus.  May this next year bring us both happiness.

Love Always, Bear

My reality the past 8 weeks has been... I can’t even finish the sentence.  I have these strange moments in which I don’t even think about the change that has taken place.  Some moments the thoughts of change are so overwhelming that I can’t focus.  Reading before bed used to be the only way I could calm my mind; the only way I could sleep.  Marcus needed to watch TV (which I wouldn’t allow in the bedroom) or watch something on his iPad to fall asleep.  Now, I can’t focus.  I can’t make it through a chapter without my mind wondering.  For some reason driving up to my house after picking Neva up from daycare is what gets me.  I am sure my neighbor thinks I am crazy. Sitting in my driveway crying, but it’s the moment I know will come every day.  

I want so badly to have Marcus back.  I wonder if I am going to become a cold bitch.  Someone who isn’t happy again.  Someone who yells at innocent cashiers for accidentally ringing up peaches for nectarines.  I was on a treadmill a few weeks ago and was talking on my phone to my Mother-in-law and the lady several machines down from me started to yell at me for talking too loud and I thought “I will end up like her.  Pissed that someone is having a real life conversation as she leisurely sweats at the gym”.  I wanted to turn to her and yell that my husband died and that I needed to be on the phone more than she needed to hear General Hospital through her shitty headphones, but instead, I kept talking and brooded about what could have made her so sad...or such a bitch.  I know that I won’t be the same Emily since losing Marcus.  I know that so many people will never be the same, but I sure do hope that the black cloud thins.  I hope that I don’t think about all of the experiences Neva won’t have, but that I focus on the new ones I will create for her.  

On top of the “feelings”, there are the more practical realities of someone dying. Like informing your Mortgage Company that your husband has died. Or cancelling his gym membership.  I sold one of our cars.  Sold his Road Bikes.  I have needed more copies of Marcus’ death certificates than I did marriage certificates.  I remember that my mom got mailings for my dad years after they divorced and my mom moved us 1,000 miles away.  I can’t bear to think that I will receive mail for the next 10 years for Marcus.  A constant reminder that he won’t ever be here to open the mail.

Marcus’ old Supervisor, Marietta, is also a widow.  And while she and I are separated by a few decades, we were emailing yesterday and she said she wished there was a different term than widow.  It’s so sad.  To think of us as widows.  The term widow stems from the Middle English word widewe, from an Indo-European root meaning “be empty”. Bingo.