When Those Who’ve Lost Let Go

Dearest Rachel –

I promise you, I have a recap story for you from our adventures knocking around Boston, and I will gather to them soon enough (as soon as I’ve put together the videos I shot as we walked from what felt like one end of the city to the other, but really only carried us through a couple of neighborhoods). I’ll probably work on it while we’re on the plane, because what else is there to do in those couple of hours when you don’t have any internet connection? But before I do that, I have this need to fill you in on something you might very well have been aware of hours (if not days) before I was. Silly of me, huh?

We’d just gotten back to the hotel yesterday morning, after an abortive attempt to stroll to Boston Common – I’d gotten turned around after we’d circled Fenway Park, and proceeded to lead us in very nearly the opposite direction we would have needed to go to get there – to receive a text message from Ellen. After years of living on her own, following her husband’s passing – and only five months up in the suburbs living with Ellen, so that the latter could look after her in her old age – Ellen’s mom passed on as well, on Wednesday. Like I said, you might very well have seen her long before Daniel and I were even aware of this having happened; even before the other thing I wrote to you about the other day. In my defense, I still don’t know how time works (assuming it even does) on your side of the veil.

Meanwhile, a bit earlier on, we’d gotten notice via email last week that one of my Dad’s cousins had finally let go as well, after a long battle with cancer, as well as the loss of his wife of over sixty years barely a year ago. You’ve probably gotten a chance to greet him by now as well. It had been a long time coming, to be honest – his turn for the worst had actually been a month ago, but I didn’t feel like I could talk about it at the time – and thereby caught no one by surprise, but the moment itself still comes as a bit of an “oh!” moment when you’re informed about it.

I can’t speak as much for Ellen’s mom – that’s her story to tell, and she tells her stories well enough to have, in part, inspired me to write these letters to you in the first place (take that however you will as an attestation of their quality) – but I know that Clyde, in particular, was often expressing a wish to be with Carol in that final year or so after her passing. The odd thing was that both of them had dealt with serious health issues, such that it often felt like a game of chance as to which one would go first; that he held out as long as he did, at ninety-two, seemed like nothing short of miraculous.

And yet, at the same time, he really didn’t want to be staying around, when his body had given out and the love of his life had been taken from him – and, to that latter, he knew he would see her again, just as I do, and wanted that moment to come as soon as possible. I couldn’t say it was a matter of ingratitude for the additional days he’d been given; when you know how much better days are ahead, you can’t help but look past the mundane drudgery you’re stuck in for the moment, and long for when the holidays start up and you can join the reunion. So I can’t fault him for that; I have moments like that myself, after all.

In fact, a lot of people in this situation do; with their partner gone, what is there to do with life? So many people die within a year of their spouse’s passing, they’ve given name to it; the widowhood effect and broken-heart syndrome, to name a couple. The risks of dying within that first year afterward are nearly doubled for us guys, in particular. And while the effect isn’t as pronounced with women, it’s still statistically noticeable.

To be sure, I realize it didn’t apply to Sylvia – her husband has been gone for a number of years, as you well know – but I don’t wonder whether she was, like Clyde, anticipating getting back together after so long, especially as she sensed her body (and, to an extent, her mind) slowly shutting down with time and age. At some point, the desire to just let go, and being able to find what you’ve lost (and yet, you know where it is, you just can’t reach it from where you are) gets stronger than the instinct to stay where you are.

Given that we’re coming up to the five year mark, I suppose you’re wondering if this musing is at all personal; I have to say, I don’t know. I have certain advantage of relative youth and strength that Clyde and Sylvia no longer had, so maybe it’s not applicable at my age. Similarly, I have the support of friends, family and community that keep me going (and to some extent, keep me preoccupied) so this isn’t something I’m subject to. And yet, I still think about you every day – these letters are proof of that, after all, aren’t they?

Still, I do have my life to get back to, and as I do, I suppose I should at least ask you to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.