A Visiting Spirit

During last night’s session with my therapist, Clay, I talked a lot about some of the things that have been making me angry and that had made me angry in the past. I divulged to him things about the aspects of my and Chris’ relationship that caused me to feel anger.

Obviously I am angry that Chris is no longer sharing this life with me, but last night I talked about how I sometimes feel as though he walked out and deserted me. I am mad at him for having cancer and for dying on me and taking his friendship, love and his very presence in my life away from me.

Yesterday, in the ladies room at work, I cried because I began to wonder if Chris would be alive today if he only went to the doctor while we were still living in Los Angeles. His tumor grew to the size it was over a prolonged period of time. Was he too scared to have it examined? Was he horrified that it might be cancer and that he would be 3,000 miles away from his home and family when he got the news? Did he just not want to deal with having to pack everything up and move back to the east coast if the news was bad? Did he hope it would just go away? I don’t now, nor will I ever know the answers to these questions, yet I chose to torture myself yesterday by stagnating on them.

I only know that I am sometimes angry that he did not go to the doctor sooner. I start to think things like, “It was his body and he should have taken care to make sure everything was okay. He might still be alive if had done that.”

What I keep forgetting is that we did talk about his stomach while we were in L.A. We both figured he had an ulcer, though, and so we didn’t give it much thought. Who ever actually believes that they have cancer? We didn’t know. I have to keep reminding myself of that.

I also wonder, sometimes, if Chris would be dead today if we never moved to L.A. Maybe the stress brought on by the move and by our sheer hatred for Hollywood was what caused his cancer. Is that even possible? Can stress be the catalyst for an abdominal tumor? The medical profession does not know the answer to that question.

Admitting anger toward a loved one who has passed away is very scary business which is chock full of acidic guilt toxic enough to burn the top layer of skin right off of my body. Before last night’s session, I had not yet felt comfortable expressing anger about the things I was unhappy about during my and Chris’ relationship. How could I? Firstly, how could I be angry at somebody who has cancer? Secondly, How could I be angry at somebody who is dead? Tonight, though, the anger began to come out and I didn’t try to suppress it. I yelled and cried about all of the stuff that made me angry when Chris was alive.

I believe that, in time, Chris and I would have worked these few little kinks out. There wasn’t anything we couldn’t talk through or hash out to the point of a peaceful agreement. When he got sick, everything changed.

How do you tell a cancer patient how mad you are about anything? My anger ceased to matter. I buried it. How could I not? I lived my life entirely to make sure that Chris was as happy as he could be under the circumstances. That’s what I chose for my life. My Creej deserved my very best and I was completely committed to giving my best to him.

In the middle of last night’s rampage, I stopped speaking and glanced over at the empty chair in the room. I was overcome with the sense that Chris was sitting there. I could feel his presence. I told Clay what I was feeling and he asked me if Chris’ presence in the room caused me to feel guilty, as though Chris was mad at me for talking badly about him. That wasn’t the case, though. I felt as though Chris was there to comfort me, just to be there with me and for me. I was filled with peace and the courage to continue talking about my anger toward him and toward my status as a widow, a situation I never invited into my life.

There are always times when I feel as though I am simply not strong enough to handle the immense depth of grief that threatens to drown me in it’s sadistic rip-tide. I very rarely feel that Chris is present in the room with me but when I do feel that he is there, I feel comfort and my strength is replenished.

I know in my heart that Chris came to be with me last night to comfort me and to let me know that everything was okay and that it was okay if I was angry with him or just angry, in general.

After my therapy session, my friend picked me up and we drove to another friend’s house where we hung out for a while. My two friends went out to run an errand while I took a short nap on the couch. As I lay there almost sleeping, a horrid memory about Chris’ illness entered my mind, causing my eyes to snap open. I glanced over at the couch across from me and, once again, I knew that Chris was there with me. I can’t explain how I knew. I just did. The horrid memory was gone. I still can’t remember what it was. I believe that Chris pulled it from my mind.

As I let my eyes rest on the area where I believed him to be a single thought automatically and effortlessly crossed my mind.

“He wants me to let go.”

It happened so automatically and suddenly and brought such relief and peace in it’s wake that my mood switched from one of fear and sadness to one of lightheartedness and relief.

I have read many books on widows and their experiences with the souls and spirits of their spouses. Many of them speak about having thoughts that they report as not really being their own. These widows describe a ticker-tape string of thought which passes through their consciousness, consoling them with words they would not ever use themselves. In each case, they were left feeling comfort and peace, as though they were still being supported by their deceased partners. I believe it can happen. I believe it has happened to me, especially in the early weeks of my grief.

When my friends returned from their errand, they called me from the car to tell me to come down so we could leave. I got up from the couch and walked over to “Chris’ couch”, wrapped my arms around where I believed him to be and whispered, “Thank you, Creej. I love you.” I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want the feeling I had to end.

I did, though.

Wherever the thought came from, me or Chris, it helped me and continues to help me carry on. Obvious to me, is that Chris would want me to let go. The way in which I reach that conclusion does not matter as much as my resulting ability to cope with his absence a little bit easier.