![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cinema_babeI want to run up to every happy couple I see and give them a blessing and tell them how lucky they are. My mourning comes in shades of dove gray and kohl back but I am happy about two things. First, for 346 days Jim and I had the pleasure of each other's company in ways I'm sure would have horrified our mothers (heh!) and bonded in ways that I never thought I could with another human being.
I hope everyone either has or finds love like we had. No human deserves less.
The other thing that makes me happy? I know that Jim is okay and I know he still loves and watches out for me.
The night before they took Jim off life support, I stayed with him and, among many things, talked to him about a specific beach I wanted to take him to in Bermuda. As I left his bedside, I kissed his forehead and told him to wait for me on that beach and we'd take the walk I promised him.
1. A few days later, at the viewing, a mutual friend told me that she had a strange dream. In it, She and Jim were on a tropical island, on a beach and they were cooking and he told her good bye.
2. At his funeral, of the 600something songs in the book, they used a song that was all about finding one's new life on a seashore.
3. A friend of mind sent me a poem to comfort me, Poe's "A Dream Within A Dream". The piece contains the following stanza:
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
4. Finally, enough with the sand. I posted last Monday about how hard it was to face Mondays without my Sunday night ritual of being with/talking to Jim. As I was driving home that day, my phone rang. It was a very old friend of mine, one of the few who has known me since I was in college the first time. He is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We only talk once a year or so now, but it's always as if we just talked last week. He told me that he just had this feeling to call me and see what was going on.
The last time we spoke, I was falling in love with Jim and could barely admit it to myself, let alone someone else.
I expressed my frustration to Jim that because I have the family trait of presenting a stiff upper lip in the face of desolation, I've tended to get overlooked when the comfort wagon comes around in favor of people who tend to be more demonstrative in their grief. I was (am) working on being more vocal and feeling less guilty about asking for what I need emotionally. But it's still hard for me to ask for comfort and reassurance.
The crippled little girl inside is still (after nearly a third of her life in therapy) afraid of being a burden and being deserted. Jim understood that in a way that no one else I ever met understood it. He understood it clear through to his bone marrow.
My friend Scott has seen me at the lowest points of my life. Days when I would look in the mirror and not even be able to see my own reflection, he was there to tell me it would be okay and I could survive. If there was anyone I needed to hear from right now, someone who could comfort me it was Scott and, unexpectedly, he called.
Thank you Jimmy, I love you too.
I hope everyone either has or finds love like we had. No human deserves less.
The other thing that makes me happy? I know that Jim is okay and I know he still loves and watches out for me.
The night before they took Jim off life support, I stayed with him and, among many things, talked to him about a specific beach I wanted to take him to in Bermuda. As I left his bedside, I kissed his forehead and told him to wait for me on that beach and we'd take the walk I promised him.
1. A few days later, at the viewing, a mutual friend told me that she had a strange dream. In it, She and Jim were on a tropical island, on a beach and they were cooking and he told her good bye.
2. At his funeral, of the 600something songs in the book, they used a song that was all about finding one's new life on a seashore.
3. A friend of mind sent me a poem to comfort me, Poe's "A Dream Within A Dream". The piece contains the following stanza:
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
4. Finally, enough with the sand. I posted last Monday about how hard it was to face Mondays without my Sunday night ritual of being with/talking to Jim. As I was driving home that day, my phone rang. It was a very old friend of mine, one of the few who has known me since I was in college the first time. He is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We only talk once a year or so now, but it's always as if we just talked last week. He told me that he just had this feeling to call me and see what was going on.
The last time we spoke, I was falling in love with Jim and could barely admit it to myself, let alone someone else.
I expressed my frustration to Jim that because I have the family trait of presenting a stiff upper lip in the face of desolation, I've tended to get overlooked when the comfort wagon comes around in favor of people who tend to be more demonstrative in their grief. I was (am) working on being more vocal and feeling less guilty about asking for what I need emotionally. But it's still hard for me to ask for comfort and reassurance.
The crippled little girl inside is still (after nearly a third of her life in therapy) afraid of being a burden and being deserted. Jim understood that in a way that no one else I ever met understood it. He understood it clear through to his bone marrow.
My friend Scott has seen me at the lowest points of my life. Days when I would look in the mirror and not even be able to see my own reflection, he was there to tell me it would be okay and I could survive. If there was anyone I needed to hear from right now, someone who could comfort me it was Scott and, unexpectedly, he called.
Thank you Jimmy, I love you too.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 03:53 am (UTC)I guess that's the whole point to that song. We were partners in crime, lovers, buddies, companions, friends [insert your favorite phrase here]. No one word seems to sum it all up, but whatever were were it was special. We didn't need a piece of paper we had the way we felt and the way were there for each other.
The last couple of months Jim made a point to tell me how happy I had made him and what I meant in his life. All I ever wanted was for him to be happy, with or without me. I'm glad he decided he was happier with me.