First of all there is the realization that without my parents or husband, no one loves me "best" anymore. That hit me when just over a year ago I was wheeled back to surgery without my husband there reassuring me with a kiss and sparkling blue eyes that all would be well. The dearest of friends were there, and no offense and I know none will be taken, but it's just not the same. Call me selfish, but I miss being that special to someone - that I will be the first person they think of, call, reach for. There's a big chunk of lonely in that realization that you have lost that privilege.
With the intimacy of immediate family, whether it be parent, spouse or child, there are so many things specific to those relationships that no one else can duplicate. I miss that I will never again have one of the extraordinary meals my mother could prepare. I miss that I will never be able to hear my dad tell stories of his Grandpa Hay, and wish that I had listened more closely the first time. I miss coming home to someone whose eyes lit up when I came in and would offer a foot rub. And I miss a son who understood his mother's gullibility and never missed a chance to pull her leg. Those examples may seem trite to the obvious, but I guarantee, they are not. They are part of unique relationships that made each of them so very special to me in so many ways.
What I wouldn't give to have someone by my side whose hand I could grab when I see something joyful when out and about; or just to give me security, physically and emotionally. I miss that I don't have a shoulder to rest my head on when I enjoy the wonder of the incredible sunset, waterfall, forest or ocean that I am enjoying. I want to look across a room again, catch his eye and get a wink, or see an expression that is as clear to me as if words were spoken. How much happier mornings would be if there was someone to say good morning to, or just kiss on the forehead as they slumber on. How much better I would sleep if I had someone to say good night to is something I'm sure of.
I ache at family events when these people are not there for landmarks, such as ball games, First Communions, weddings, Hall of Fame inductions and so much more. I'm learning that I can let go of the physical things, but the memories are part of my very soul. They're my history, part of the big patchwork quilt that could chronicle my life. The good news is that I can more often smile at these memories than before. The sad news is that the word bittersweet never before had so much meaning for me. With those smiles comes a tug of sadness that the beautiful party that included those guests of honor is over.
Maybe it's because I'm getting older that I'm putting together my own "End of Life" box. You know, the binder with all of your insurance policies, accounts, passwords, and such. My will is in there too. Additionally I have begun planning my own funeral and wake. I'm not sure exactly where or what the funeral will entail or even where it will even happen, but I'm gathering some things (tangible and intangible) that I can leave to the keepers of my heart left here on earth. I have far more specific ideas about the wake! I want a true party, with lots of laughter, lots of music and lots and lots of hugs. I want a veritable love fest as a reminder that even when you have to let go, there are still so many others in your life you can reach out for, who love you and care about you like no one else can or will.
