There, but gone

I have decided to post a series of four poems, all having to do with adjusting to the physical loss of the man I loved - shifting to understanding that he IS with me, just in a very different way. So often people like to remind you, as a way of trying to be helpful, something to the effect that your loved one is still with you. Early on, though I wanted to believe that, I found it a little hard to comprehend. I think it simply takes a while to fully understand what that means in the context of your own life and how to wrap your arms and your heart around the fact that your loved one is there, but not. Or rather that your loved one is NOT there, but IS.

I want to let these poems mostly speak for themselves, but I thought I would give a brief chronology of how they emerged as best I can remember. Merging came directly from a polarity experience that I had during the time when we were tearing the house apart. I Saw You and Empty Suitcoat were written on the same day. I Saw You was from a dream I had the night before. Every so often (though not frequently) I have what I call 'Barry dreams' that are very profound and provide much clarity. He doesn't ever talk much, but something usually happens in the dream that allows me to work my own way to that clarity. Empty Suitcoat came as a result of putting the house back together and was a revisit to a lovely memory of a day not long before he died when we had a wonderful day of togetherness. Barry's Dead is about a moment I had while bicycling with friends. We were going up a long hill and all of a sudden tears came and I said out loud to myself, "Barry's dead." I pedaled for a bit, let the tears come and then said aloud, "But I'm not." It was so very different from saying or thinking that Barry died. Somehow that meant that maybe I could do something about that or that I SHOULD have been able to do something, but when it shifted to the fact that he is dead it was somehow freeing. I realized that it is something that happened to him and I had no choice in that, but I did have a choice in how to move forward. I'm not sure I've adequately expressed the shift, but it was liberating and felt quite amazing as I shared it with my friends.

Okay, that was much more than I intended to say and so here are the poems:

Merging

I see now that
we are both moving forward -
apart, yet together.
We were so connected
and when you left so suddenly
I just didn’t know what to do.
I kept going as I always have
through it all.
but something in my core froze
and my essence became murky
with worry and despair.
Now as my mind clears
and my spirit finds a new freedom
I see how we are merging
and flowing together
as never before.
You are somewhere else,
I know not where,
but you are here with
me and our children, too.
I am ready to let you go
and I finally understand
that I can move on without
guilt or fear or remorse.
I can put one foot in front of
the other and carry
all that we shared in my heart,
I can celebrate what you saw in me
for myself.
I can repack the satchel
with all that is good and pure and real
about me.

Sarah Carlson
December 21, 2007

I Saw You

I saw you
in my new space.
I was afraid
you would think I
had erased you
as I took things apart
and sorted through me.
My love, our love,
is still strong,
but it’s different now.
I can’t touch you,
hold you, process things
with you.
I miss you,
but I had to make this place
mine.
And then there you were
sitting back, relaxing
and smiling your wonderful smile.
Reassuring, approving,
supporting,
just there in the space
as I need you to be.

Sarah Carlson
February 22, 2008

Empty Suitcoat

I was sorting through clothes
as I put the pieces back together.
And there it was -
the suitcoat you wore
just a few weeks before
you died.
As I felt its silky surface
I could remember standing
arm in arm with you,
together as one.
People came and went,
we talked and listened,
but for some reason
we knew to
soak in those moments,
bask in our love,
be with each other.
I can still feel the small
of your back,
your beautiful hand
resting on my shoulder.
The empty suitcoat
brought that to the surface,
powerful in its emptiness
and its fullness.

Sarah Carlson
February 22, 2008

Barry’s Dead

I’ve long understood that
my husband died.
After all, it’s been more than
six years.
Recently I had the
sudden realization that, in truth,
he’s dead.
Yes, Barry’s dead.
I felt the familiar sorrow
of his absence as I uttered
those words aloud
for my own ears to hear.
Yet, I was strangely calm and sensed
a release of some kind
as I went on to say,
but I am very much alive.
I’m here, right here, in me.
I wonder sometimes if he would
know this new me,
or if this is the me he saw all along.
I’m not sure, but I do know that
the memory of our love and
gratitude for all that we were together is
safely ensconced in my heart.
It feels good to finally
be able to give myself permission
to go on and
enjoy the rest of my life as it unfolds.
Barry’s dead,
but I am free to do the living
I have left to do.

Sarah Carlson
October 23, 2008