Six years ago today, I lost my husband, best friend, and soulmate, the one person I could always count on, and who could always count on me. It’s now also been 2192 days (because of Leap Years), 72 months, or 313 weeks (plus one day), and no matter the unit of measure, I’m sure I’ve felt every single one, some more than others, of course.
Six years may seem like an odd number to be affected by, but that number is also one quarter of the entire time Nigel and I had together. Statistically speaking, I stand a reasonably good chance of living on longer without Nigel than I lived with him, something I realised quite early on. However, back then I wasn’t in any kind of head space to act on that knowledge, and over the first few years I felt, basically, like I was in a metaphorical waiting room until my own time ran out.
Over time, the fog of grief cleared enough for me to realise that my own health is fine right now, and while no one can ever know the hour or circumstances of one’s own demise, it’s perfectly reasonable, at the moment, to assume that I could yet have a couple decades ahead of me. That led me to the second obvious realisation.
I finally began to understand that I have agency in determining what my life may be or what it may become. For example, back in January I started walking every single day in order to improve the likelihood that as I age I’ll remain healthy and mobile for as long as possible. I also recently decided to commit to staying in my house for at least five years, and to make changes to it that will improve it, yes, but mainly to realise its potential and make it what I want it to be.
While I’ve firmly shut the door to that metaphorical waiting room, I haven’t exactly locked it. My journey over the past six years has been filled with great progress and great setbacks, triumphs and failures, and lots of things—probably most things, actually—between those endpoints. All of that led me to what became my guiding principle.
Some nine months into my journey I wrote, “I came to realise something very important about my future: I don’t have to be happy, I just have to be content. Finding happiness is beyond my control—some people spend their entire lives looking for happiness, never finding it. But the latter? That’s something I can help along,” and being content is precisely what I’ve been working on ever since. After a lot of effort, I’ve pretty much succeeded in achieving that goal, and things as diverse as my daily walking routine and my commitment to my house are examples of that. In fact, those are what’s making it possible for me to feel content.
The only thing that’s certain about my future is, obviously, that Nigel won’t be with me on whatever this journey turns out to be—at least, not literally. I carry all the infinite good things from our life together, stored safely in my heart and memory so I can pull them out whenever I need comfort, inspiration, a laugh, or even just to feel a sort of virtual hug from the person I most want one from. I miss him as much as ever, and I sometimes still cry. I know both will probably always be true, but I also now finally understand that I can feel all that and be content at the exact same time.
September 20, the day Nigel drew his final breath, is the lowest point of my personal year, and probably always will be, but there’s an important thing about that: To have been so utterly and profoundly affected and changed by this one person and his love is a treasure I can carry with me forever. There’s the saying that goes, "with great love comes great pain", and that’s absolutely true. However, I’ve come to understand that great love is worth it, despite the possibility of great pain. Most days, it’s the great love that’s front of mind, other days, like September 20, the great pain reminds me that the great love is still there. But, through it all, it’s the love that endures.
Related: In last year’s post “The fifth horrible anniversary”, I talked about how an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine was the perfect way to describe how I was at the beginning of this journey. Today’s post is really about how much has changed even since last year.
6 comments:
I’m in full blown tears, my friend.
I feel as if I was there through all of this. Your writing is so powerful...How I wish I had met Nigel in person. I love him through your words.
Thank you for your kind words. While I certainly don't want to cause anyone to cry, I do appreciate that it's for good reasons.
Yhank you so much! Most people who met NIgel instantly liked him, but the connection he and I had was next level!
Always a painful read, although you manage to put a different spin on it each year as you navigate your life.
Thank you. As you know, I talk about all this in the hope that someone may find something useful, or maybe that they can identify with or maybe seen themselves in.
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