Slipping pieces

This past weekend, we finally made a trip up to Canada to see Jeremy's completed grave stone (I may blog more about this later). It's been done for a month and a half now and we haven't been able to get up there before now and it's been tearing at me. I'm so glad we finally got to go see it. It doesn't feel right for something to be done for/about/in honor of him and not be a part of it, because he's a part of me.

I'm always so glad to get up there. Not just to Jeremy's grave (although I strangely look forward to going, perhaps because I know I can't just go anytime and I feel Jer there) but I really ache when I'm away too long. I miss Jeremy's family. My family. I miss his presence that's always in the midst of whatever we're doing there. I miss the familiar smells, faces, and places that are just him. They are not associated with anyone else.

I noticed something happening this trip though. It's happened once or twice before, randomly, but it always catches me off guard and leaves me frustrated and on the verge of tears.

I started to forget.

It's small things. This weekend, while sitting around during our ritual late night conversation filled with inappropriate jokes and bodily sounds (very Jeremy-esque), I suddenly heard in my head the sound of Jeremy burping. Ya know, that manly burp that's loud and obnoxious - he was always so proud of it. Well, he used to try to burp the alphabet and see how far he could get, or more often, he would burp "Ralph Forfar" - don't ask me why. But for a split second, I couldn't remember that name. His sisters had to help me remember, while I choked back tears for forgetting.

It seems trivial and silly, but anyone who has lost someone close understands how scary it can be when pieces of the ones you love start slipping. You suddenly forget the feeling of them next to you, just for a moment, and it scares you half to death. Or you can't remember the name of that one place you went to together, or exactly what started that inside joke. Or for me, not remembering the exact phrase that Jeremy used to repeat all the time from a french cartoon he watched as a kid. It was the only french he could remember and he recalled it anytime someone asked him if knew French (cause apparently all Canadians are supposed to). I can hear the inflection in my head. I can see his facial expressions. But the piece left me for awhile and made me angry with tears every time I tried to remember it.

It taps into my biggest fear: people forgetting Jeremy. If I can't remember a detail about Jeremy and I was closest person to him, who's to say others won't forget things too? Obvious, that's an irrational thought, but grief is not rational. It plays with your every emotion, every insecurity, every fear. It sneaks up and rearranges every puzzle piece you've tried to put back together in your life only to change the picture that was on the puzzle to begin with. The pieces never fit back together like they used to and when the pieces you've held onto the tightest start slipping, it threatens the very breath and life of you.

My only comfort in these moments are focusing on the things I do remember. The things I will NEVER forget. And the things that are only mine. Ours. I'll carry those with me in my heart wherever I go til the day I die.


Jan Whiteman said...

Beautiful Honey. It is upsetting when our wonderful memories seem to be slipping away. Just remember those times will always remain in your heart, even though they may sometimes slip your mind.
Love from Grandma Jan

Erin said...

Very well written. I really enjoy your posts because often they seem to speak the words that I think. My fiance is buried in his hometown that is an hour and a half away from me. I LOVE going over there and visiting with him, his (and my, of course) family and friends. That is a place where he spent 24 years of his life and everything over there reminds me of him. I am scared to make new memories without him there. Everything about moving on scares me. Thinking about tomorrow scares me. I'm just in a scared phase right now. It will be 6 months next Tuesday. Unbelievable. Thanks for posting things I can relate to and for letting me blab on and one.

Melrose said...

Vee, the beautiful thing is, it's OK to let the pieces go. Here's why. I lost my Dad at 18 in a tragic plane crash. Well of course that's when one's life usually takes off. I went away to college, got married, and now 4 kids later I sometimes find myself unable to breathe as I look at my life that he never got to see. But something miraculous has happened in how full my life is now...I stopped feeling the insane NEED to hold on and instead embraced my life that I have now because I realized A. He is a PART of me. He will never be lost because I am his and your kids are Jeremy's AND yours! But even more B. because he is STILL alive and I WILL see him again in heaven. It's like those amazing friends you can go forever w/o seeing and when you see them again you just pick right back up where you left off! So I guess, you're not really letting go because he is living, and one day, 10 years from now you'll be doing something random and suddenly a memory will hit that will be so vivid that it will make you overjoyed with your memory of him. And My step mom who lost her mother very young still has those too. You will never forget. :)

Anonymous said...

Veronica, wow, I don't think I've ever met you or Jeremy. I was a student at MCC in the early 90's and then again in the late 90's/00's. When I heard that Jeremy had passed I tried to think
if I had met both if you, I still don't think I have, but reading your posts, WOW ... you are a strong woman to be able to go through this. Just reading this has brought tears, I can't imagine lossjng my husbands. If it does happen that he goes before me, I want to come back to your posts and reread them to learn of your strength. God bless you, stay strong!

Alicia roe-russell


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