Yesterday marked the first anniversary of my husband's passing from pancreatic cancer. Irv
took his last breath and departed the earth at 9:23 AM on November 30, 2019 as I held him, and it seems
like only yesterday that he left us.
To say that life has been painful without my soulmate is understating things and then some. Grief and sadness are here for keeps, and I am getting used to that, albeit slowly. I loved Irv more than life itself, and I always will. It is difficult to wrap my mind around the notion of years of life without him, and flourishing without him is probably not in the cards. Just surviving is hard work.
For many years, I was married to a guy who had a razor-sharp mind, a dry wit, a fine sense of irony and a great laugh. The world was an endless source of delight and wonder to him, and he never wearied of its grandeur and its beauty. He was passionate about trees, rocks and rivers, fields and fens, birds, bugs and woodland critters, sunrises and sunsets, full moons and starry nights. He loved this island earth deeply, and he loved rambling its wild places. Ramble we did, hand in hand and all over the place, packs on our backs, notebooks in our pockets and our beloved doggy sidekicks trotting along with us. I could not have had a more wonderful companion if I had written him into being myself, and I could not believe my good fortune. I look back on our life together with amazement and gratitude.
Now it is Beau and I who wander the eastern Ontario highlands together, in the flesh anyway. Cassie and Spencer traveled beyond the fields we know some time ago, but they are here with Irv, and all three are walking right along with us. There will be five of us on the snowbound trail this winter, but some of us won’t need snowshoes or leave paw prints in the white stuff.
I stroke Beau's silky ears and hold him close. I keep putting one foot in front of the other and breathing in and out. I tell myself that Irv is no longer in pain, and that I will learn to live with this broken heart. There is a small measure of comfort in knowing that we will walk these hallowed hills forever, and that our canine companions will be with us. A fine untrammeled wildness dwells in our blood and bones, all of us.
To say that life has been painful without my soulmate is understating things and then some. Grief and sadness are here for keeps, and I am getting used to that, albeit slowly. I loved Irv more than life itself, and I always will. It is difficult to wrap my mind around the notion of years of life without him, and flourishing without him is probably not in the cards. Just surviving is hard work.
For many years, I was married to a guy who had a razor-sharp mind, a dry wit, a fine sense of irony and a great laugh. The world was an endless source of delight and wonder to him, and he never wearied of its grandeur and its beauty. He was passionate about trees, rocks and rivers, fields and fens, birds, bugs and woodland critters, sunrises and sunsets, full moons and starry nights. He loved this island earth deeply, and he loved rambling its wild places. Ramble we did, hand in hand and all over the place, packs on our backs, notebooks in our pockets and our beloved doggy sidekicks trotting along with us. I could not have had a more wonderful companion if I had written him into being myself, and I could not believe my good fortune. I look back on our life together with amazement and gratitude.
Now it is Beau and I who wander the eastern Ontario highlands together, in the flesh anyway. Cassie and Spencer traveled beyond the fields we know some time ago, but they are here with Irv, and all three are walking right along with us. There will be five of us on the snowbound trail this winter, but some of us won’t need snowshoes or leave paw prints in the white stuff.
I stroke Beau's silky ears and hold him close. I keep putting one foot in front of the other and breathing in and out. I tell myself that Irv is no longer in pain, and that I will learn to live with this broken heart. There is a small measure of comfort in knowing that we will walk these hallowed hills forever, and that our canine companions will be with us. A fine untrammeled wildness dwells in our blood and bones, all of us.
12 comments:
I don't know what to say, except <3 .
Hugs
What a beautiful tribute to your soul-mate. Yes, you exist together still, and always will. I had such trouble with boyfriends who didn't want "forever" in our relationships. So I ended up alone. And it's ok, until I read about a relationship like yours. So glad to know that these do exist in our times, not just in fairy tales.
Your husband sounds like he was kin to your heart and the whole world, and to have a companion wandering this wide planet with you, indeed special. I hope last night's full Beaver moon was bright for you, and lent a little visit from his spirit.
I just came across this short poem by Raymond Carver:
Late Fragment
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
to call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
May you always keep such thoughts tucked close, even in loss.
❤️
Sending love. Other words are just inadequate.
Such a gorgeous honoring and tribute to your soulmate, dearest Nokomis.
Sending tender hugs and wishing all 5 of you traveling mercies.
Much love, too,
Prairie Star
who is still trustin'
To have loved like that . . . how so very wonderful. I am so sorry that you lost him so soon . . .the kind of pain where your heart physically hurts.
"Love from one being to another can only be that two solitudes come nearer, recognize and protect
and comfort one another."
~ Elizabeth Comber
May you find the many memories you made with him a great comfort.
I can't say I know any relationships like yours and it might be a condolation to you knowing you truly had THE BEST for many years. Which, of course, makes being without Irv judt all the more painful. I cried, reading your testimonial and wishing you much consolation with your Beau, nature and family.
❤️
Sorry: CONSOLATION in 2nd line. I have very bad eyesight AND I was in tears.
This is such a beautiful post. Thank you for sharing. I'm thinking of you as you walk the woods. I love this last line, and it is so true: A fine untrammeled wildness dwells in our blood and bones, all of us.
I have been thinking deeply about our relationship with the wild and feeling called to do something but I'm not sure what. I just finished an ecotherapy certificate course with the earthbody institute, so that may open new avenues. Would love to come travel up to Canada, but I suppose we'll have to wait until the pandemic is over.....thinking of you and your amazing writing and blog.....
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