There was a quote I had come across that described the Pisces personality as people who collect people and store them in little jars. When I think about how little I knew of my ex-fiancee’s past, I think about these jars stored somewhere that only she has access to. This isn’t a criticism, it’s more of an awareness of how much she kept to herself, how under such a warm and outgoing and loving person is an extremely private person. I guess I figured that over a lifetime together, more would come out, and honestly her radiance kinda blinded me to her privacy. I suppose I could have asked questions, but that’s not entirely my style. I tend to be very curious about my partner, but when it comes to sensitive topics, I tend to back off and hope that they will open up on their own. I can remember one evening eating dinner at her place. We were talking about our exes. I think she shared one of the stories of what it was like to grocery shop with him. Or perhaps I had been sharing something. I remember she said she doesn’t have much to say about him. But that I could ask her anything.
Tomorrow, I think, is the anniversary of her late husband’s passing. I know a few details – things that, out of respect, I too will keep private. I’ve worn his jacket and walked his dog. I know a little bit about his childhood. I know he was an avid cyclist. I have a vague idea of what he did for a living. I’ve seen some of his paintings. Her blog has pictures and some posts about him and them when they were trying to start a family. Clearly, there was a time when they were in love with each other – I wish she had talked to me more about that. I probably heard more about their troubles than I did their triumphs – though it’s human nature to focus on the more negative aspects as a way to highlight the lessons learned and the positives of the now (I did the same thing) …. The last thing you want to do with your new partner is go on and on about good memories from your past. I know a little bit about his sickness, what her life was like during that time, working and caring for him, falling asleep in a chair by his side. I know some specifics about the day he died. I know nothing about what life was like after he passed – other than the time and effort she put in to fixing the house – she was proud of that – I still remember the pictures she showed me, and I remember driving past the place when we were out in San Diego. I don’t know if there was a funeral or if she spoke or what she wore or if she wrote something for it. After she left me, I spent some time putting her stuff in to piles so that she would have an easier time instructing the movers. I paused when I got to the box of his remains – I sat there for a few minutes. I thought a lot about what it meant to bring him in to our lives and what we could have done as a couple to honor him. It wasn’t always easy, but deep down, I wanted to help carry his memory / legacy forward, shoulder some of that weight.
Last year on the anniversary of his death, I sent her a long email. I had spent the night trying to imagine (really imagine) what her experiences were like at that time of her life. At the time of my email, I was walking through my own fog of grief. I had never really lost anyone in my life (I’ve been fortunate in that respect) and while each loss is unique and defies comparison, I suddenly had a glimpse of what grief feels and looks like, how heavy and debilitating it can be. Of course, I couldn’t possibly imagine hers, but what I felt was humbling – it breaks a person down. It put a lot of things in perspective. It made me feel petty about some of the arguments we had – life is simply too short. I told her that I wish I had tried to keep her feelings of loss more front of mind. I wish I had really tried to feel them and understand them. The thing is, until you carry something like that with you every day, you have no idea that other people might be doing the same thing. You sort of go about your life in a cloud of ignorant bliss. As I tried to imagine it, I felt horrible for not noticing. We become practiced at hiding what’s going on underneath. It’s how we put on a smile, how we pick ourselves up, how we move forward, because collapsing in a heap isn’t acceptable or makes other people uncomfortable. I never thought about what that might feel like – having to carry on when maybe you don’t want to, and how annoying and insensitive the rest of the world seems in its plucky insistence that you be happy, or get over it, or count your blessings. On the bad days, friends, family, colleagues, become insufferable.
I had never dated a widow before. I don’t think she had been in a serious relationship since his passing. We were both new to it and we were bound to make mistakes. She tried to shield me from her sorrows, didn’t want to bring me down, bog us down. She tried to show that she had let go and I was probably looking for those signs. In hindsight, it might have been better for us if she had held on and simply let me in and shown me what she was holding on to – maybe we could have carried it together. I think there was room for it. The irony is, her leaving me probably brought me closer to understanding this than anything else.
I’ve since tried to find things out about him – there’s almost no record. Despite all that I read in Buddhism about the temporary nature of everything, it still makes me a little sad that his memory isn’t being shared, that he has disappeared. I hope she finds a way to put his legacy out in to the world, either through a poem or a journal post or just sharing with an intimate partner. At various times I’ve drafted letters to him or tried to write a poem in his honor – it feels presumptuous to do so. At the same time, it feels like a sincere and honorable thing to do – it’s the only gift I have. I think tomorrow, I’ll spend some time trying to do something good and thoughtful in this space. I’ll throw open the windows and let the spirits in.
Usually, when I think about him, I have curiosity about his better traits. Was he a goofy uncle? What were his favorite bands? What was his favorite meal (that would have been a nice way for us to honor him)? How did he handle the challenges they faced in starting a family? I get a little sad about all of the rich conversations she and I could have had and all of the little things I didn’t know.