Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Man in Waiting
A dream of you...,
originally uploaded by double.L.
It has been 87 days since Michael left this world. Michael Walter Lowrie, the man I love, my partner, my husband.
Michael suffered from a brain tumor. We knew that he was going to die, and we were able to have many conversations about this. Some of these conversations were very serious, some were what might be considered mundane.
Often his impending death would come up as we prepared for bed each night. He would look over at me while brushing his teeth, and say things like, "I'm going to miss doing this with you." Michael would be putting his clothes away, look across the room and say, "I'm going to miss seeing your smile." At first these comments were difficult to hear, and initially didn't make sense to me. I would ask him, "Isn't it the person left behind that is supposed to do all the missing?" He would just smile and reply, "Well, I know I am going to miss this anyway."
I know this type of conversation might seem odd, but it was our reality. We found it comforting to know we would always miss each other. It became an endearing part of our relationship.
Sometimes the next part of the conversation would lead to Michael asking if I wanted him to contact me after death, if he found this possible. Of course I would love it, but know it isn't possible. And while such ideas seem like they would help with the pain of loss, I know that they would likely just delay what I must go through. Perhaps this is why I haven't even found Michael in my dreams. Come to think of it, I don't think I have had any dreams since his death.
During these past 87 days I have had very little sleep. Most nights I am awake until 1 or 2 in the morning. Sometimes I am able to let go of my thoughts, and fall asleep earlier, and sometimes sleep doesn't arrive until much later into the morning. I'm sure this is why I am not dreaming, or at least not registering that I dream.
This may not be the case for all who grieve. It just happens to be part of my process. I know that eventually I will sleep. Eventually I will dream, and when I do I will be looking for Michael.
I am a man in waiting. I am waiting for some comforting visions of Michael. I am waiting for sweet remembrances. I am waiting to awake with a smile on my face.