Love and Loss

I want to try and write about this time with my husband Colin, as we come to terms with the sense that this really is the last chapter of his life.  We are no longer riding on hopes for a miraculous healing, but letting in the sense that he won’t last more than weeks or perhaps months.  To embrace this not with resignation but in a loving and willing submission to reality and an appreciation that this is truly a blessing for us both on a deeper level, even whilst it is heartbreaking and devastating on another level.

I have days in which I feel this devastation wash over me, wave after wave; a deep anguish, as if all that I love is being ripped away from me and I feel like a young child about to lose her parents.  And with that comes this sense of danger around my own emotions; I must be brave or I will not be loved, cherished, cared for.. and I must be brave because if I break down it will be unbearable and overwhelming for him.  And when the attempts to be brave don’t really work and the tears come flooding uncontrollably, there is shame which comes creeping in, as if I failed and all my years of work on myself were useless…This young part thinks,  “here I am again, feeling about 4 years old and without resources.  Here I am creating a difficult atmosphere when what is needed most is calm acceptance, being there for him as a rock, a cushion, an unconditionally loving saint!”

But it is not actually like that, because there is such a deep sense of just being here, as these weather fronts move through, knowing that it is all passing and that come what may I have what it takes to live it, even though those young parts of me haven’t quite caught up!

And then, much of the time, I find that I am simply basking in how it is to be with Colin, made all the more precious because of the absolute obviousness that nothing can be held onto.  That it always was so and always will be.  That we truly do, only have this moment to live, and so much of the time, the sense of being with him, close to me, as we go through the days together, is simply beautiful.  To be with him over these many years has made me feel so safe, so right, quietly joyous; we are so known to one another and feel, most of the time, so understood by each other.  And I keep noticing this: the love opens between us in a moment of tenderness, in a touch, a smile, gazing in each others’ eyes, an embrace or a shared moment of humour.  My heart seems to spread wide.  And almost instantly a contraction, a recognition that all this will be gone soon and he will no longer be with me… grief wells up.  And then I recognise how much I want to hold on to him, to what I love, to this moment, and how in that holding on, the love is lost and there is just fear of what is to come.  And then, more often than not, there is a kind of grace, as I notice what is happening, drop deeper than the fear and let myself fully have this moment of love, of openness, of communion.  And I realise that this proximity of death brings me closer to another octave of love than I have ever known because it is not based on clinging, or a romantic notion of us as a couple – it is simply love arising in us, through us, AS us.  And in that there is freedom and a kind of humility in the face of this great mystery which is to be alive and know that death awaits us all.  That we are not in control.  And are given each and every experience as an opportunity to love.  And then I get to feel what an absolute honour it is to be with this man, and to have found our way over decades together, meeting layer upon layer of old hurts, conditioning, habits of protection, rejection, punishment, withholding.  And as it all became more conscious, finding layer upon layer of tenderness, compassion, humour, delight, passion, peace, gravity, silliness, practicality… and simple enjoyment of life and all that is given to us.  It is an extraordinary privilege to know this and to be taking this journey together.  And now, to be moving towards the end of his life in this body – together, hand in hand, step by step, meeting all that we meet along the way, brings me to my knees: To witness the shutting down of his body; the falling away of his energy, the pain and breathlessness; the grief for what is lost:  In love.  In gratitude.  In heartbreak.  And to be able to truly say, I am here, I am up for this, this too is what I am here for.  To be here for THIS. Come What May.

And then there is this extraordinary sense of community around us – of deep care from the many people we love; including the many who we have supported who are now stepping in to offer support to us. I am learning how it is to really receive help and am humbled by the grace of being part of such a generous and open community of friends, family, and those who have worked with us both over the years. And part of what is emerging is a kind of grief tending; holding space for us all to feel what it is to love and face loss without getting lost in it all, opening the door for more love to be revealed.