Letters to Michael:  Looking for Acceptance

June 10^th

Dear Michael, it is early morning and from my bed I can see the beautiful water with wind-tossed ripples sparkling like millions of little stars, dancing with the first sunlight.  Today, just like all mornings here on the Sea of Cortez, there was a beautiful multicolored sunrise that flooded the bedroom with light and woke me from my dreams.  Usually I just turn over and will myself back to sleep.  But, too often slumber eludes me.  If I am lucky I can empty my mind and just drift out to sea to the beautiful, just-before-sunrise glow that casts a red, yellow, and purple rainbow painted along the horizon.   I am mesmerized by the changes in colors as the fire ball of sun rises slowly to expose the turquoise waves that splash up against the large boulders grouped along the shoreline.  It is nice to take even a few seconds to let my mind rest after eight weeks of processing a thousand thoughts and worries that will no doubt resurface when I am fully awake. 

I am relieved to say that there are moments when I think I have made peace with the fact that you are never going to show up here and tell me this has just been a horrible mistake.  I am learning that no amount of crying, anger, frustration and wishful thinking will change the reality that you are never coming back to me.  However, I still bounce around from hopefulness to bargaining, anger, and frustration. Perhaps it is just too soon for my heart and mind to be in synch. I try to be optimistic about the future. However, I realize that you won’t be there to share that future with me and that I need to work out a new plan.  This will take time.  I am still processing the events of the past two months.  I am getting tired of this broken record playing over and over again in my brain.  I start each morning missing you, and retracing the backlog of recent challenges overloading my data base.

Nothing I do, or wish I could do, changes the facts leading up to your death.  Yet, the lazy part of my subconscious, that hasn’t quite gotten the message, still wonders where you are.  I am then forced to once again zip through the news-reel of those last days with you just to reinforce why you can’t be here.  Even though I know it is crazy, I keep trying to edit, re-write, and change the facts so that you come out of this stroke unscathed.  It is just a foolish game my unrelenting mind wants to play.  I am trying to learn to beg off, stop the movie, and look for better ways to occupy my mind.  I have been fortunate to have wonderful friends and family visiting during my stay in Buena Vista, Mexico.  They unknowingly steer me in another direction and fill the hours with cheerful topics, push me to join them for a swim or a long walk along the beach.  We have spent hours buried in books that trick me to concentrate on other things.  I am still able to lose myself in the kitchen whipping up a few decent meals. On the outside I am cheerful, hopeful and in control.  Inside I am still processing and missing you a lot.

When I am honest with myself, I realize, with a strong conviction, that you wouldn’t have wanted the story to end any other way than it did.  You wouldn’t have wanted to live without your ability to have sharp recall, to talk about politics, or hold court with the ninth street women, and charm everyone with your affable smile.  You wouldn’t have wanted to be stuck in a wheel chair, need twenty-four hour care, or constantly be reminded that you were no longer independent.  I am comforted in the thought that, though I was not prepared to let you go, in many ways you were prepared to die. Your body had betrayed you, and you wanted the impossible…a new one.  Failing that, you were tired and maybe even ready to go.  However, I will never let myself believe that you would have wanted to go so soon; you didn’t want to leave me, and you wouldn’t have wanted me to go through this agony of loss that I have felt these past few weeks.   Still, nothing changes the facts, and you got to go the way most people wish they could, quickly and painlessly.  I should be grateful.  But I am not.

I still want more of course. How can I give up perfection? No one will ever measure up to you.  Okay, you had some flaws, but you were my kind of perfect.  I miss you asking me “How are you doing?”  I miss your smile, your laugh, your hugs, your smell, and your silly little songs that you would sing.  I miss hearing your stories about your day, the people you had met, and the jokes you had heard.   I miss telling you how much I love you, and hearing you say the same back to me.  You were my safety net, my solid ground, my life-line, my anchor.  After living through a very unhappy marriage, you were my affirmation that I was worthy of love.  I knew from what you said to me and others that you were proud of me and my accomplishments.  Because of you, I knew no boundaries.  You were the mirror that reflected nothing but hope and promise back to me. My accomplishments were yours to cherish.  You made me feel I could not only fly, but soar!  Yet, I enjoyed the fact that you watched me like a hawk, protected me like a fragile ornament, and took care of most of my needs.  You were unselfish and I was not. Because of this I can’t help but think that I let you down.  I couldn’t return the favor in those last few weeks.  I couldn’t keep you safe and may have pushed you too much.  I am trying not to punish myself for being culpable in your death.  But, maybe if I had been more observant and caring, I would have known that something was wrong.  Perhaps I could have saved you.  I just didn’t want to believe that the man I married had changed, needed more rest, or actually had a problem.  I never wanted to believe that you would leave me quite so soon.  We made a pact to live into our 80’s or 90’s and beyond.  I wanted a promise that could not be fulfilled. You tried to warn me otherwise and I tried to convince you how foolish you’d become.  I know that beating myself up doesn’t change reality; but it still doesn’t stop me from wondering these things and wanting to re-wind the clock, start that last day over, and make the necessary changes that save your life.  

Lately, I have been rewinding the clock back to meeting you and our first dates.  This is a far more pleasant place to spend my time. I see this as a positive adjustment in my thinking. Perhaps I am making some progress after all.  There are so many wonderful, exciting, and happy memories to choose.  I want to go back to the early 90’s and relive those years over and over again.  Of course, because I have a choice, I would leave out all your surgeries, my cancer, and all the other sad stuff we experienced.  I am happy to select only the part of the movie of those years that I like the best.  It is something to hold on to when I can’t hold on to you.  I am hopeful that this shift from our last full day together, to all the other happy days we had over the past twenty-one years, is just one step closer to acceptance.  I am working on letting myself off the hook, and challenging myself to give up on all the “what ifs” so I can fully enjoy the reality of all the great years of things that really happened.   Those precious moments keep me sane, help me navigate the treacherous waters; they fill me with bitter-sweet joy. 

Saying good bye to each other would never have been easy no matter when or where we had to do that.  I am no fool.  None of us get the option of endless life.  Few ever know when the end will come.   I realize that you wouldn’t want me to mope around feeling sad all the time.  But, it is difficult for me not to want more time with you.  I know you would want me to look forward to really living my life to its full measure and enjoy whatever comes my way. You told me that I would do fine without you.  You said I would easily find someone else to fill the void.  I remember firmly telling you to stop those foolish thoughts because there could never be a replacement for you.  I can’t even begin to believe that possibility.  However, I am trying to be optimistic, trying to be strong.  I know your ultimate goal of this trip was to be here with me in Buena Vista.  I am certain that you would have fought to finish our trip if you had that option.  I am trying to live one day at a time and appreciate this place knowing that you loved it so very much. 

Even though I am sometimes overcome with sadness, there are many times I allow myself the enjoyment of floating in the warm, crystal clear water. I realize I am giggling at the puffer fish, smiling at the schools of tropical fish, and marvel at the sting rays burrowing into the sand.  It is exciting to see manta rays jump out of the ocean; sometimes three at a time.  I am surprised at the loud, slapping sound they make as they re-enter the water.  I love the large pelicans as they sail by in a line above my head or close to the water in perfect flying formation.  Often, one will circle back, fly higher, and dive into the water right in front of us.  I just wish you were here to share in my stories and ask me for a full report when I return from snorkeling.   I am trying to soak in all the beauty of this place for both of us.   Buena Vista is a magical place.  The water couldn’t be more warm or beautiful; the sunrises more stunning.  Yet, now that you can’t be here to enjoy this with me, I wonder if I will ever be able to return.