Some thoughts in the shower just now…
I’ve been so fixated on your body beneath the ground lately. Other widows and friends tell me- “but you didn’t love his body, but his soul right?” And “it looked like a shell so much right? Because it was.”
I did love him in his body though- but yes, it was a shell. But it is still horrifying that it’s under the ground.
But I thought to myself in the shower- “Well, he’s not suffering.” Whether he’s annihilated completely with his body, or in existence and awareness in some other realm- he’s not suffering. I, in fact, am the one suffering. But then I thought- being annihilated- this does feel like suffering. Because something in us does want to last…if not suffering because he can not be aware to know all of this- it certainly is a loss for him, the greatest kind of loss. So, no, he may or may not be aware/alive- but if he is not- that is not something I can make peace with and say those words you often hear when someone dies of a long illness- “At least she’s not suffering anymore…”
My questions over whether or not we are more than just physical bodies continue. I tell a friend, but then it’s quite coincidental that when our bodies break down- that’s the exact moment our souls depart…I mean, if they just randomly left the body behind one day – it’d make more sense. But maybe not- or maybe that is what happened to you. Or maybe it makes sense because if the body- the earthly home of the soul- is no longer useful- the soul has to go someplace? Christianity is the only religion offering redemption of the body- like Christ rose again in a body- eating food, sleeping, and being touched. I hope this is true, but I have no way of knowing. Grieving though, more than anything else I’ve ever done- asserts that yes- there is a soul.
I’ve been asking also lately- if the fact that Christianity- which is the religion I know the most about- provides hope-comfort ( a new word I think I just made up)- if not answers, for every question or need I would have regarding your death- does that provide further evidence that it is in fact a man-made religion thought up to do just that? But then I think…would this be the particular story men would come up with? A carpenter? A cross? And would those who testified to seeing that risen body die for it if it was just a ruse? Would they be tortured for it. I don’t know any of these answers- but questions are good too.
Alongside the sorrow, I find strangely, contentment. Again, it’s not apart from the suffering or sorrow- but right alongside.
Something like taking a shower and sitting on the bed looking out the window at sun streaming through the clouds feels, amidst sorrow- like contentment. Most things I do have this feeling to them now.
I feel angry that I couldn’t have been this way when you were alive. But it’s not a lesson I could have learned then. It’s not a lesson. I did my best then as I was with what I knew.
For years I’ve had this analogy in my mind. I felt I was living my life like I was sitting on a straight, tall, ladderback chair. Rigid, straight up and down. But what I knew I wanted, was to sink into a soft, upholstered, chair with down cushions. The kind that conforms to your body and you could fall asleep in.
Now I sit in sorrow.
Now I sit in my down chair.