Call If You Need Anything

Every holiday season, Mark’s Saturday morning biking group would have a Christmas party that included spouses. I’m not sure when it started but it was our favorite party of the season as Mark talked about these guys all the time and it was a chance to get to know them and their significant others better. Between them, they would do a gift exchange that usually involved some kind of gear. If Mark seemed excited by what he got I’d say “Oh that’s great,” or “That will sure come in handy,” when most of the time I had no idea what it was.

The first year I went to the party after Mark died, I asked my son and son-in-law to go with me. I was going to attempt to be strong even if it required a couple of sidekicks, but all day I felt like throwing up. I was okay once I got there and everybody was very welcoming, but it was hard and as soon as I came home I went to bed and cried.

The following year the party was at the home of a couple I knew well and I decided I could manage this one on my own. After all, Mark had been dead for over a year. One of the bikers was moving back to Australia in the coming week, and instead of the normal gift exchange it was rigged that every gift was for him with mementos to remember his time in town and with the group. It was such a lovely and thoughtful gesture and I was so moved by it. I remember sitting there thinking that this was how you were supposed to leave a group, with a party and gifts, good wishes and a sweet goodbye. You don’t leave by ending your life so that your farewell is a funeral and your wife has to stand up and talk about how funny and passionate you were. I was barely holding it together when some guitars came out to sing a version of a Christmas song specific to the biking group. I lost it and kept telling myself TO GET IT TOGETHER but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop crying, I couldn’t get out of the chair, I couldn’t do anything, and all I felt was shame for publicly falling apart like that.

The next thing I felt was an arm around me telling me it was okay. I didn’t even know who’s arm it was because my head was down and I thought that if I dared to lift it everyone could see that Mark’s wife shouldn’t have come because she makes everyone sad and has ruined the party. The arm stayed there, with a firm hold on me, whispering “it’s okay” over and over, and when the song was over I got up and saw it was the wife of one of Mark’s friends. I don’t remember if I hugged her or not but I do remember whispering, “thank you,” before I grabbed my stuff and ran out the door. Though it took place over mere minutes, it is seared into my mind because that woman literally stood next to my pain. She didn’t try to fix it or diminish it. She stood next to it and didn’t move until I did and there aren’t many people who can do that.

I have heard many, many times, “Call me if you need anything.” There are times that I am capable of asking for help outside of my son and son-in-law but mostly not. I have lived my entire adult life being fiercely independent and building a support system wherever we lived. Since Mark died it is a daily challenge to support myself, to not succumb to the depression that nips at my heels the minute I get out of bed, to quiet the voice that screams at me YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU OF ALL PEOPLE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. I don’t have the energy to pick up a phone and ask for help or to say it’s a really bad day because all I’m programmed to do is to try to keep my head above water.

A few months after Mark died, a friend and I went to hear Cheryl Strayed speak at a fundraiser for the library. Her book Wild has always been one of my favorites and her talk was so inspiring and exactly what both of us needed to hear. On the way home I was talking about the utter emptiness of my life and said, “You know, I’d just like to see a cardinal and think that it’s Mark’s spirit paying me a visit. Just one cardinal. Is that too much to ask?” When I got home there was a gift bag from a friend on my porch. Inside was a cardinal windchime.

While some put the burden on me to let them know when I needed something, others were able to figure it out while I tried to process the shock and horror of Mark’s death, when the light of my life was gone and weight fell off of me pound by pound because I didn’t even know I needed to eat.