Sunday, November 30, 2008

A Horrible Comparison

This is a horrible comparison.
This will make some people think I'm a horrible person and truly losing my marbles.
But trust me, I'm not. At least not horrible. Perhaps a little crazy.
And I will take comfort where I can get it.
Today, I found it in the strangest location.

I just finished "Marley & Me" by John Grogan.
I highly recommend it if you like memiours, you are a pet owner, or just love a good fun read.
I thoroughly enjoyed.
Through a lot of the book, I found myself laughing out loud.
Through the last two chapters, I found myself sobbing.
Sobbing on a two & half hour flight to Orlando in the midst of a full plane load of people.

[Besides my widow friends] In this book, I found a person who could express in words some of the things I was feeling.
Yes, he ends up losing the dog. (I don't think I'm spoiling the ending here.)
I found the author feels similar feelings to me.
He also had to put the dog to sleep and although a very different position, I still felt/feel some similar guilt, heaviness, and/or stress of that type of decision.

I'm not trying to say losing Roger is like losing a pet. But I think, its pretty darn close.
A pet, in the author's case a dog, is like a best friend.
They are there when you arrive home waiting for you.
They love you unconditionally.
They are happy to see you.
They are by your side through thick and thin.
They love you even when you are sick.
They love you when you are looking your absolute worse.
They are fun and sweet.
How is this not like a husband?
Roger was all those things to me.

And I know Roger was more than a dog, but the author's pictures of grief and some other findings fit me.
I want to share a few parts of the book.

"...He reminded me that each of us gets just one shot at the gold, with no replays. One day you are swimming halfway out into the ocean convinced this is the day you will catch that seagull; the next you're barely able to bend down to drink out of your water bowl."
This is the first passage that made me cry.
On Thursday, August 21, 2008, Roger was progamming a new database, running errands, meeting with the renters, playing with the cats, messing with the budget, loading his new iPod, and then the next day he was completely unable to do anything.
He was so full of life. Roger made goals and met goals constantly. He didn't let anything stand in his way.
But one very stupid human driver ended it all. One stupid driver made it so he would never see again. Never talk to me. Never have sex with me. Never feed himself. Never do another martial art. Never be here for me when I needed him most.

"...I could almost taste the finiteness of life and thus its preciousness. We take it for granted, but it is fragile, percarious, uncertain, able to cease at any instant without notice. I was reminded of what should be obvious but too often is not, that each day, each hour and minute, is worth cherishing."
The second sentence here is what really gets me. Roger was strong. He seemed invincible. He seemed like he would live forever.
And I was never given proper notice. He just left. No goodbye conversation. Not one last kiss.
Roger was fragile despite everything he claimed.
Life is uncertain and unplanned which is something Roger repeated to me a lot.
But I never listened. I kept making plans for us for the next day, the next month, the next year, and for the rest of our lives together. And in the end, it was fruitless.

"Little moments hardly worth remembering, and yet here they were, randomly playing out on my mental movie screen at the least likely of times and places. Most of them made me smile; a few made me bite my lip and pause."
This is a constant for me. It never ever stops for me. And the most random memories come at the most random of times. I wish I could document them all. I'm sure most are only things I want to know or remember. But I can't forget.
One of my greatest strengths of remembering almost everything haunts me.
But at the same time, I don't want to forget. I don't want to lose those memories of him, of us, and of everything we had together.

"Despite everything, all the disappointments and unmet expectations, Marley had given us a gift, at once priceless and free. He taught us the art of unqualified love. How to give it, how to accept it. Where there is that, most of the other pieces fall into place."
Roger loved me in all ways. He thought I was sexy and beautiful. He was patient with me and kind. And in a way, he did it without expecting it in return.
Of course, I did return his love with my own. But he put himself out there to me 100% all the time hoping I'd do the same in blind faith.

"The ups, the downs; the laughter, the tears; the joys and the heartbreaks. A journey worth taking."
When I took my vows, I took them very seriously.
I was not going to end up divorced. It was death do us part.
Death was the only thing I would truly let get in our way.
And I knew that eventually one of us would die. It's inevitable. I wasn't denying that life eventually ends.
Of course, never like this.
Never so soon.
But I'd do it all again.
I'd do it a million times over.
I'd deal with all our "discussions" and all the pain of dating.
I would take it all just to have everything we did even for the most shortest of moments.
Just to know that I was loved. Truly loved for me. To give love. To learn that marriage could be fantastic and fulfilling. To learn that I could trust someone completely.

For the rehearsal dinner, the night before our wedding. I almost read this poem to Roger. But ultimately for one reason or another didn't. But here it is. True in every sense.

1 comment:

Marlyn Wilkin said...

I don't think it's a horrible comparison at all. It's very sweet and funny. The poem is so very cute & sweet as well. Thanks for sharing.