Entry Date: Monday, May 23, 2005
Title: Death of a Spouse

Message:

Location: From the book: Journey Through Widowhood

I went to the cemetery today. I go only occasionally. I don’t understand when or why I go. His body is there. But I don’t believe that he is. He is out there somewhere on some spiritual journey I cannot yet know about. And yet when I want to talk to him I travel the road that takes me to the place where his body lies.

A strange feeling overtakes me when I arrive there. I become a stranger in my own skin wondering what I am doing in this place of trees and grass and flat stone markers with names inscribed upon them.
Although I know the vicinity where he lies I cannot walk directly to that spot. I must always search for it and it is only when I see Marie wife of… that I know I am getting close.

How silly can I be that I cannot remember without clues to remind me? And then his name appears before my eyes and I busy myself placing the fresh flowers which I have brought and pick imaginary grass from the edges of the already neatly cleared stone. I need time to adjust to the reality that I am looking at the grave of my husband.

He is dead. And he is buried beneath this ground on which I stand. I feel foolish because what I really want to do is lie belly down on this mound of dirt and dig my hands and toes into the soil so that I may be closer to him. I want him to be alive and well as he reaches back to embrace me. Instead I stand there awhile. At last I sit and begin to speak to him. It feels unnatural. There is no one to respond to my words, to flesh them out and make a conversation of them. I feel
dissatisfied and weep in anguish.

It is the release of tears that makes this trip worthwhile. I do not need to be here to cry, but the force of these tears seems to empty me of the deeper pent up emotions which are hard to reach.

As I leave I tell myself it is not necessary to come here to be reminded of him or to talk to him. It is too hard and I say that I will not come back. And I already know that I am lying.