Sixteen months without Michelle (#1395)

Topics/tags: Michelle

Michelle passed away sixteen months ago today. Time keeps passing, as it must. The boys and I continue with our lives, as we must. As I do each monthly anniversary, I’m marking it with a musing. It’s an opportunity to think carefully about the love of my life; it’s a time to check in with myself on how I’m doing. Perhaps vice versa.

I still have a gaping wound in my psyche. I suppose I always will. However, I’m finding it easier to manage. I don’t encounter extremely painful, sob-inducing moments daily. Rather, I feel a somewhat manageable sadness (or at least mostly manageable). It appears things can get better. Who knew? My experience over the previous fifteen months suggested otherwise.

I still talk to her each night. I hope she hears. I rarely do more than report on my day and what I’ve heard about the boys’ days. I also remind her that I love her lots and lots and even more, as I said when we were together. And I tell her to sleep well; I’ve previously given her a disclaimer that I don’t know whether that means anything to her.

This past week or so, I’ve been dreaming about her a lot. Some dreams are wonderful. For example, I dreamed about hugging her. Some are sad. I dreamed about being with her and her family, and we were mourning the things she would never get to do, the differences she’d never make. And some are just weird, as dreams tend to do. One I semi-recall involved us driving separately somewhere. She was ahead of me. But suddenly, my driving involved detouring off the road into mud, falling into a river (suddenly out of the car), and then dropping important papers into the river and having to recover them. There may also have been something about a Scout camp. I’m sure there’s much a therapist could say about those things. A few dreams have been about a family cabin by the lake, one that does not exist in the non-dream world.

I keep thinking about things that would make her happy, such as receiving flowers or thoughtful jewelry. When washing dishes, I think about how much she appreciated it when I got our sink sparkling clean: It’s white enamel, and, for whatever reason, loves to hold stains; she always complimented me when I succeeded in eliminating most of them. I also reflect on how much she liked the signed Doonesbury print about Mike Doonesbury’s encounters with the Newton; when I gave it to her, she said, I know you bought this for me, not for yourself. (She really loved her Newton and, I suppose, lots of new technologies.)

Sometime this month, I saw a book advertised, How to Survive the Loss of a Love. I thought, Hey, that may be a useful resource on my attempt to figure out how to live without Michelle. Little did I know it was about divorce. Oh well. I may or may not look for another book. On the other hand, an alum’s post about their divorce popped up at some point, I think when I saw them post something about the state of standup comedy in Utah, and what they wrote resonated.

One of the hardest aspects of divorce is the Great Aloneness of it. And it isn’t just that you lose your romantic partner — you also lose the physical presence of a consistent human who you can lean on. To give you an opinion, to give you encouragement, to give you a hand.

Yeah, that’s gone. Eldest shares opinions, encourages me, and even lends a hand. It’s not the same as having my partner in life. Michelle would also have been more successful at, say, convincing me to get out of bed each morning or making me handle the rats’ nest my hoarding is creating. Hmmm … Perhaps I’m not doing as well as I thought.

However, I’ve also had some surprisingly good days. I don’t know all the reasons. But the days after the first meeting of my guided reading on board game design were definitely positive. I really love teaching, particularly in somewhat open situations. And I had fun working on my own game design. Plus, I’ve restarted water walking, which I think helps.

Michelle, I miss you! Your absence is tangible. I mourn the great things you wanted to do but never had the chance. I mourn our lost time together. But I’m getting by! The kids are, too. I love you lots and lots and even more.

Version 1.0 of 2025-02-08.