The Unbearable Lightness

Jack’s sister died Friday morning. He was with her, and I was glad of that. She was unconscious and had shallow breathing for a day and a half, but he held her hand and stayed with her and her husband. I am proud of him. He did well.

It was my fear that when I died, my husband would not do that for me. When I was in labor with my first child, he yelled at me. I had a long labor, and he grew frustrated and tired. Then he yelled at me. It caused a huge wound in our marriage, and we still have it, even in our divorced relationship. He couldn't be there for me when our child was being born. For years after she was born, I had this feeling that I had to get away from him, that he would let me down in a big way again, and for good. I just pictured him abandoning me when I needed him most - he'd be out talking to friends, watching a game, taking good, good care of himself at the very moment that I died. And I would die alone. Lonely. Needing.

Before my first daughter was born, I was afraid to die. It was a near-death experience, having her. I made the mistake of birthing with a midwife, and I was in labor for 50 hours. The baby and I nearly died. After that experience, I stopped being afraid to die, but I was filled with dread about dying alone. That dread is gone now. I need to think about where I lost that. I think in the divorce. In losing Jack. Right now, I am in that process.

There are a few other key moments that defined my marriage, but that one is huge. I ruminated on it for years, the hurt was so bad. That's what's different about Jack. He can take me. In all my intensity. The sex intensity, the emotional intensity, the writer intensity.

There's something about death and intimacy. One time in bed, Jack asked me what I wanted to do, and I said I just wanted him to be on top of me and to look in my face. I didn't care about coming, I just wanted to feel him inside me and see him straight on. And we just did that for a long, long time. No talking or shouting, because we had already made love a bunch of times that day, so it wasn't frantic. It was tender. I cried afterwards, because I was happy and at peace. We still talk about that sometimes. I'm crying now as I write about it.

Most people could not take that. It would weird them out. And at that time, Jack and I weren't talking about loving each other or leaving countries or anything like that. He was just my friend, and he did me this huge favor. He opened my heart.

Anyway, it's hard to let go, but it's time. I guess I am doing it in a process. Sort of like dying, or being born, maybe. I'm not sure which.