On my way through the den to my writing room the other day, I passed a photo of my husband. I said hello.
It wasn’t much, just a nod and a brief, “Hi, Jon.”
I said hello to my deceased husband for the first time since he died more than two years ago. And I did it without collapsing into tears.
Widows Who Talk to Their Husbands
Most of the widows I know talk to their husbands. They chat with them, they ask their advice, they fill them in on the day’s events. They keep their photos handy. They keep their husbands handy.
Somehow these women are able to feel the full force their husband’s presence without falling apart.
Not me. When a photo of Jon pops into view unannounced, I turn my face away — especially if it is a fresh image, one I haven’t seen in a while, a photo that evokes the full reality of Jon.
A Deceased Husband Lying in Wait in the Family Photos
My big project in recent months has been getting the family photos scanned. Twenty-two years worth of photos — birthday cakes, prom dresses, Christmas trees, toddlers and teens. Sorting through the photos has been a lot of work and a fun experience — until the moment when a long-forgotten photo of Jon surfaces. And there he is again. Jon being Jon. Jon looking like Jon. Jon back in his body.
The sight of him is unbearable. I collapse into tears.
Other widows tell me they find comfort in feeling the nearness of their husbands.
Not me. These intimations of Jon serve only to remind me that Jon is very much not there. The agony of that horrible phone call on February 19, 2021, replays.
Jon Waving Me Off to Work
But on this particular day, I found myself enjoying a moment with Jon as I breezed past him on the way to work. We had reenacted this scene thousands of times during our marriage: me on my way to work, Jon waving me off. Or, Jon on his way to work, me waving him off.
And so, I had to wonder whether I have moved on to a new kind of grief. One in which I can, at last, exchange pleasantries with my deceased husband without breaking into tears. One in which Jon is still Jon, my pal and my dearest person. Not there, but there.
More about life with Jon at “A Dad, a Mom and an Eight-Year-Old With a Bashed Lip.” Also, “The Summer Solstice, Arriving Right Now in a Sky Near You.”
0 Responses
I am not surprised at your reaction to Jon’s pictures. A long time passed before I could look at pictures of my mother without feeling the stab. Now it’s my brother I can’t stand to look at. It’s just going to take time.
Bobby is the kind of person who leaves behind a very big empty spot.
I talk to my mother, deceased dogs and our friend Shirley. Sometimes tears come, as they are as I write this.
Ah, Shirley! I’ll bet she comes back with something pithy to say.
It is hard to lose anyone in our lives I can’t imagine loosing my spouse!!! I still can’t bring myself to erase my mother’s phone number from my cell phone. I look around and see friends and relatives lose their spouses and it makes me sad to see them so sad! Yesterday was a beautiful day to have Jerry’s service. It will be the same for Bobby’s. We will certainly miss his weekend stays. I lost my oldest brother in February unexpectedly it just leaves you with a huge empty feeling but he is in heaven with his wife now. It’s a strange feeling to be the oldest sibling left.
It’s got to be really hard to lose a sibling. They are the people who have known you from the star . . . You have a really dear spouse (and I have a dear cousin). Tell him you love him once in a while.
i’m glad you paused to say hi and imagine jon was waving as you went to your desk.
Waving me off to work — there’s more to that than meets the eye. He let me know in so many words that he was a big supporter of my writing.