Shortly after my wife died, a friend emailed me a quote from Julian Barnes’s Levels of Life, which deals in part with the death of his wife of twenty-nine years. “This is what those who haven’t crossed the tropic of grief often fail to understand,” Barnes wrote, “the fact that someone has died may mean that they are not alive, but doesn’t mean that they do not exist.” It struck me as an intellectual conceit rather than a real insight. But I ordered the book from Abebooks. It was well written, as I had expected, and it was full of aperçus such as: “There are two essential types of loneliness: that of not having found someone to love, and that of having been deprived of the one you did love. The first is worse.” But I was still unconvinced that someone who had died could nevertheless exist. No longer. For me, Shirley does exist, not the memory of her, but her actual presence in our home—and in my consciousness. “I talk to her constantly,” was another Barnes comment that struck me as farfetched when I first read it. Now, months later, I must agree, for I, too, talk to her constantly.
THE TROPIC OF GRIEF
Hello Witold,
I hope you kept occupied through Christmas. I read what you posted twice. Death is an odd thing, I wonder if I will ever understand it. I’m an only child of an only child and as of now, the last one in my family on both sides. My husband and I are both loners and I do wonder (almost fear) what will happen to me if he dies first. Another banker acquaintance of my husband’s said one time that marriage was one person propping up the other. How true. We were at a dinner table in Napa at a banking convention. He moved on. About two minutes later my husband whispered to me, “Do you have a Rolaid?” Of course I did….I am a walking drugstore for him mostly. As I handed him one I reminded him I was propping him up!
And back to death, I think the way I describe it is that the person who dies just simply goes away forever. It’s like they moved out of town. Your memories of them are fresh up to the moment they died. You simply will never see them again here on Earth. It’s a bitter pill to swallow. I do know this, after a certain amount of time you will get used to the idea. I felt so unworthy after my father died. He hoarded and saved everything he inherited and really, didn’t even want me to have it, didn’t trust anybody including myself. When he did die, I was stunned when his will left everything to me. I felt guilty. That was over 20 years ago. I still feel uneasy thinking about it. But, time goes on and you must go on living. As for you, think about Shirley, what would she do if you died first?
As for us, we spent my husband’s four day Xmas holiday cleaning the basement and preparing his new home office. He as of yesterday had his last day of real work. Now starting today he is officially retired from being a commercial banker. He has several part time banking-related things lined up because he is fearful of getting lax and stagnant. Today he is painting in the basement. Life goes on. The neighborhood book club’s annual New Year’s Eve get-together next door at the retired doctor’s house has been cancelled due to the Omicron variant. All of us are 65 and older. Vaccinated yes but still, trying to be smart about it.
I will watch for your column daily. Happy New Year!
Margaret Huff
My wife lives on in my heart and will always be in our home. I had never heard of the word apercus until you used it. Very good word.