I sat in a dark basement unsure how to operate a complex power tool when Mike approaches and I ask him why he bought so many complex things. He knows what I really mean,

"Why did you die and leave me with so many complex things to figure out?"

For once we aren't rushing into each other's arms, we aren't clasping to the wisps of each other that still linger in our subconscious. We just stand and talk, face to face. Like the soul mates we once were.

"When I had the choice to die, I couldn't resist. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities".

I huff a little air out of my nose. My mind goes back, almost 3 years back. To the morning he lay on the couch, between this world and the next. He had survived before: I had revived him, others had revived him. But this time he chose to float further down the stream of nothingness. Losing his full consciousness to the void.

I tell him I understand. I can't hide the pain, but it doesn't boil on the surface like fresh blisters anymore. He leans down and looks me in the eye, "I am sorry I don't get to visit like I'd wanted, I don't get to see you grow up. I left a lot of pain, you and Mark took the brunt of it."

I remember last year at the cemetery - 2 years after. The only person who seemed to ache like I did was his closest brother. The sight of each other was almost too much for either of us to bear. The only other person his little brother Mikey loved as much as him, was me - and vice versa.

One last thing strikes me as my alarm starts robbing my time with Mike short: he isn't magically better. I am not talking to the Mike I fell in love with at 17, or the Mike that sits atop the pedestal in my memories: the one carved of the good times and not the bad. I am talking, albeit rationally, to the Mike that left.

There is no illusion that the mental illness and brain injuries that sold our time short would have reversed and graciously re-instituted our marriage.

Regardless of his decision to float away, we would never have lived the life we had planned. Those dreams were not meant for us. Even if he had chose to live, our marriage and love story had already died.





Thank you for joining June's Widowed Blog Hop. I hope you'll stop by the other widowed bloggers and send them some love. 

http://samanthalightgallagher.wordpress.com/widowed-blog-hop/


Samantha of the Crazy Courage blog
Janine of One Breath At A Time
Red’s The M3 Blog
Christine of Widow Island
Tim’s Diary of a Widower
Running Forward: Abel Keogh’s Blog
Tamara of Artful Living After Loss
Jessica at Buttons to Beans
Missing Bobby: A Widow’s Journey
The Grief Toolbox
The Widow’s Mite: Encouragement for Widows
Widowed Yogi
Choosing Grace Today

Forgiveness is the swan dive of freedom off the cliff of anxiety.
Can we muster the courage?  What if we-
Forgave ourselves
Forgave our partners for dying
Forgave our in laws for not understanding.

Is there a way to grant forgiveness
for transgressions you don't understand?
The search for responsibility: 
to sort the seed from the shaft,
truth from the pain that bore it.

There is power in accepting guilt,
The enticing illusion of control within reach.
Sometimes I can't stand the pain of reality.
Like a cold glass of vodka, soothing its way down the spine:
I delve into the fantasy that his voice is only a phone call away. 

Its a tempting trap.
One that I all-too-willingly step into each time I walk the trail alone.
Every damned time. 
The bear trap of guilt snaps through my bones and entraps my consciousness. 
Keeping my sanity captive until I manage to pry and drag my battered body away.

Limp and bruised I try harder to listen to the warnings and rationalizations:
I did the best I knew how.
It was his time.
There was just too much pain.

But not tonight.
Tonight I write to you with one leg stuck in the trap
and no more energy to battle.
My fingers are chilled and raw.
I have spent every night for nearly a week
flogging myself for each and every mistake.

I see Mike in my dreams,
watch the double hop on his right leg when the left couldn't keep up.
I find him unconscious again and again.
Watch the news of his car "accident" over and over.
Feel the deep emptiness in my chest when he would cry to me for help.

Every. Time. I. Am. Helpless.

I am bludgeoned by a subconscious
replaying each scenario to find a way out.
Like an investigator rewinding footage
in my relentless search for meaning.
If only I can find why,
maybe....

Maybe he could grow up,
Maybe he could breathe deep and laugh,
Maybe it's all a mistake.
Maybe he could be loved.
Maybe he could love me.
Maybe everything wasn't a mistake.
Maybe, just maybe he could live.

Welcome to monthly widowed blog hop. Please stop by my friends and fellow widowed blogger's sites and leave them some love. I hope you enjoyed the piece of my soul that I left for you today, please leave me some love in the comments as well.
With love and light,
Jess


Samantha of the Crazy Courage blog
Janine of One Breath At A Time
Red’s The M3 Blog
Becky’s Choosing Grace Today
Marriott of Miracles and Answers to the Prayers in the Life of Marriott Cole
Christine of Widow Island
Robin of The Fresh Widow
Tim’s Diary of a Widower
Running Forward: Abel Keogh’s Blog
Carolyn at Modern Widow’s Club
Andrea of International Brotherhood of Single Mothers
Tamara of Artful Living After Loss
Jessica at Buttons to Beans
Missing Bobby: A Widow’s Journey
The Grief Toolbox
Ferree of Widow’s Christian Place
From Me to We: A Young Widow’s Journey