“You need to spend time crawling alone through shadows
to truly appreciate what it is to stand in the sun.”
― Shaun Hick
It has been just over a year since Kathleen’s diagnosis and subsequent death.
It has also been a lifetime.
Tomorrow, July 16th, will be her 54th birthday, except…she’s not here to mark it.
Kathleen’s birth date has always been a longstanding joke between Kathleen, Kevin and me. Kevin’s birthday is July 21st, but after we first got together, I could never remember whether his was the 16th or the 21st. I was always mixing the two birthdays up.
My defense was twofold; firstly, I’m crap at remembering any dates at all, but secondly, I’d already known Kathleen’s birthdate for over 15 years before I ever met Kevin.
But this year there is no joking. As a matter of fact, her birthday last year wasn’t much fun either, what with the whole oncologist meeting and all.
Still, I feel like I’ve been doing pretty good with this grief thing. Whatever the hell that means.
Truly. There are days when I want to pinch myself with the beauty and joy I feel in the world. I’m so grateful that the waves of endless tears seem to have given me a reprieve.
But there are other mornings when I wake up from a dream where I’m trying to hold Kathleen up as she falls. I wake in the middle of explaining to the other people in my dream that she doesn’t know she’s dying, to please, please just go along with what’s happening.
On those mornings I wake with a dark dread that is like a large hand pressing me down into the mattress. The air is too thick to breathe and I wonder how…how the fuck am I’m supposed to get up and move through a day?
But here’s the thing.
I do.
And it passes.
And this is how we get through our lives. Our lives are not all Facebook highlights. Our lives are often lived in shadows. We learn to live with the holes and losses. We hold on. We keep on. And there is joy and laughter and meals shared with friends and memories, so very many memories (Tell me. How is it that she’s in almost every memory, and yet I don’t have nearly enough photos of all those times? Did I really think it would all go on forever?).
I loved you Kathleen. You were complicated. You could also be so direct and clear. You pissed me off and you made me laugh. Oh man, we could laugh so hard. You hugged me like no one else and you saw me, all of my history, everything. You held some of my darkest secrets, and yet, you loved me anyway. We had, as the saying goes, each other’s back.
We were quite the pair, eh?
Ultimately we shared the knowledge that it was all ridiculous.
All of it.
All of ‘this’.
It’s all absurdly ridiculous, but we knew that ultimately, the only thing that mattered was love.
Love prevails. No matter what. Death. Life. Whatever. We can take it.
Because love is always there.
Happy Birthday Kathleen. I promise I’ll never forget.
Wishing you, and your friend, lots of love, Colleen.
Blessings Carol. Kathleen left here on a river of love and met an ocean. I feel blessed to have been a part of it all.
A wonderful birthday wish to your friend. What a beautiful tribute to a special friendship. And so much truth in the words. You’re so right – our lives are more than the images and “status updates” scrolling through a newsfeed. There are secrets. And pain. And truths we don’t want to shine a light on. And … it IS all ridiculous! Love is what matters.
Love you , my friend. Thinking of you today.
“There are secrets. And pain. And truths we don’t want to shine a light on. And … it IS all ridiculous! Love is what matters.” I’m so glad you share my wonder at the absurdity of it all. Thank you for your kind thoughts and love Gwen. I feel it all.
Reading this beautiful tribute of your friend has made me think of a good friend of mine who died of cancer in March of this year. She was 61 and died 2 weeks before her son’s 21st birthday. The cancer had spread so rapidly, she was dead within a year after being diagnosed.
I had known her for more than 35 years. There has been so many outings, parties, laughs and joy and now I still can’t believe that I’ll never see her again. I still ask myself the question “why her?” She had such a very healthy living and had everything to live for. It seems so unjust.
Holding on is the only thing we can do, taking with us all the happy memories and the love that we shared together.
Catherine, I’m so sorry to hear about the death of your friend. So many memories and still so much time that you thought you’d share in the future. Nothing about this process is fair or just and that’s the hard thing to process too. I’m glad you have so many good memories and know that the love remains.
Crikey…you made me cry…again.
Dee Dee, I feel like we’re all a little clearer after crying. Kevin still thinks a ‘good cry’ is an oxymoron or at least rather ironic, but I think there’s often nothing better.
I cried as I read this. Your tribute to Kathleen eloquently describes grief and love.
Hi Donna. Thanks for your tears. I know we all share variations of this experience; that strange intertwining of grief/happiness/love/loss.
Beautifully written Colleen, you were a precious friend.
Thanks Barb. She was a good friend to me. It still feels rather unreal.