One Year Ago Today

I am actually writing this before I have a title, which is unusual for me. I cannot think of what to call it. Here we go.

Today is the one year "anniversary" (not a good word to describe, but...) of my wife's death. (as an aside, I have noticed no one seems to use death, or died. or dead when referring to a family member or loved one. Instead they use passed on, passed away, or some even more flowery synonym or euphemism, but that is probably a post for my other blog. My wife died. The use of a euphemism doesn't diminish the pain or the reality. If I offend anyone, go read another blog. But I digress...)
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I have extremely mixed emotions today, none of them really good. Sadness and grief are a big part of it; but to be fair, guilt is still a large part of what I feel. You might be thinking one thing, but let me explain. Just after my wife's death (I was going to write "passing" but after the above it didn't seem real), I was wracked with guilt and remorse over some of the things I wish I had done, or said. I do not really regret many of the things I did do, thankfully; but I do have regrets. It is like the famous quotes:

Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable - Sydney J. Harris 

or

When you look back on your life, you'll regret the things you didn't do more than the ones you did. - H. Jackson Brown, Jr.


My wife and I tried to DO as much as we could in the years after her diagnosis. She wanted to go on a cruise with her sister and we did, along with another one a little over a year later. Then we did another one a year and a half later with my youngest daughter. I know she would have rather have done the cruises "whole" and able to partake of more of the activities, but I also know she enjoyed them a LOT. In fact, we might have been better at doing the BIG things (like the cruises, or taking her to Florida) than the smaller things. Those smaller things are what eat at me. It is very sad for me to write this (I will with hope of catharsis), but one of the things she wanted to do was to go to a Russell Stover outlet that is about an hour from here. Now, in the scheme of things, that is not a real difficult request. But, add in the fact of a wheelchair, bathroom issues (see earlier posts), no good wheelchair access at the shopping center the outlet is located in, and my overall exhaustion for most of the time; and it seemed like a HUGE problem to me. I denied her of that trip many times over the months prior to her death. Looking back at it now, I was selfish and foolish. That two hour+ journey might have brought her immeasurable joy for a little effort. There are other regrets similar to that. None big, but that is what makes them so painful.

I wrote some emotional stuff a year ago. Somewhere in there amongst those lines are some words about "doing" and having no regrets. I implore anyone reading this to do what you can if you are faced with a grim future or diagnosis. It actually is pretty good advice for anyone, anytime. I need to heed my own advice, but the healer is always the worst patient.

I will end this with a poem. In the spirit of disclosure, this is actually a one line thing I wrote over forty years ago (before I even met my wife) that I turned into a song for her later. I will not sing for you, but here are the words: (the second verse is chilling to me as I wrote this many, many years ago)

Always will my love for you
remain inside my heart.
No matter where you go
or how long that we're apart.
The promise that I left you with
forever echos in my ears...I'll need you always.

You were gone one lonesome day
and though I'd told myself before
you'd have to leave me soon
you couldn't stay with me much more.
Still I listen for your laugh,
your smile's forever  frozen in my mind...I'll need you always.
                                 "THE"  1971  1982

I cannot envision a time that I will not miss her so very much.
RIP - Carol Condon Poole - 09/30/54 - 05/30/11