Draining

I had known it for weeks. There was a great grief welling up inside me, bulging up toward the surface, determined to burst. But I didn't know what it was about.

On November 5 I read a quote on a friend's blog: "When a widow prepares her heart to move forward, whether she means to or not, her mind begins to remember the worst things about her husband. It's a way of making it easier, like starting a fight before a goodbye."

Three days later the pain was lanced and drained, boiling over in a two-hour torrent. It was the deferred grief over the death of my first husband to brain cancer. The last thing unaffected by his paralysis was his strong left hand. Less than two years after losing him, I had lunch with a widower who extended both hands, cupped, across the table to me so he could say grace. I grasped them as I would a life preserver, knowing that by doing so I was committing myself to him forever. I was ravenous to be loved again, in every way. I thought (me, a spiritually mature, chaste Christian woman!), "I don't know a thing about him but hey, if it doesn't work out I can get a divorce."

Two weeks later we were engaged. (What took you so long? I wondered.) One day under three months from that first date we were married. He assured me if I wasn't through grieving, he would grieve with me. But how could I do that to him? So I had packed the unfinished sadness away.

Instead, I only mentioned to him the bad things about my first husband, like his frustration and eventual anger over my frigidity, my terror of s*x. He had finally told me (a woman whose father had made her feel like a slut, a woman barely able to respond to s*xual overtures, much less intitate them!), "I don't even want to hold or snuggle with you in bed. It makes me want you. If you want s*x, come get it." Ouch. He never believed I actually wanted it, needed it as much as he did.

I have often pictured him in heaven, responding in astonishment to the news that his wife is able to give herself freely to her second husband, even enjoy s*x: "Jessica?"

I would tell my new husband that I hadn't wanted to marry again because the old one had persuaded me no other man would put up with me. I would tell my new husband the things he does better than the old one. There were multitudes of positive things about the old one but I hadn't let myself remember them and now I knew why.

I had been starting a fight before the final goodbye.

Now I know why there are days, despite life with a husband I still consider perfect after 8-1/2 years, when all I do is sit up in bed and weep.

On November 8, I poured it out to G. for two soggy hours: He was a good man. I had forgotten that! He loved me. He provided for me, cherished me and tried with all his might, poor sod, to understand me. We had wonderful times together, close, fun times. And I miss him.

(* is to avoid predators.)