shedding his skin

1.21.2011

It was a peaceful night. Derek's breathing is slowing quite a bit but is not labored, he's not been congested, and he's as restful as I've seen him. I'm ever so thankful for this. His urine output is coming to an end; we're witnessing his body beginning to shut down. Dying is a strangely intimate thing. I dreamed of snakes two nights ago, and am thinking of Derek "shedding his skin" and being transformed. I hope this is so.

I've been grieving for a month as I've missed Derek, grieving for a few days as I watch this "shell" begin the dying process, and am terrified to imagine the new intensity of grief I'll feel when this body is no longer here for me to touch. My friends have all talked of my strength, but each moment I wonder if I'll have the strength to get through the next. I understand the platitudes about time healing wounds, but I wonder at the truth of this. I wonder if I'll be able to let go of my grief, as it is so much a part of my love.

"The problem with death is absence." --Roger Rosenblatt

While I'm grateful that the process of dying, for Derek, has seemed to be a peaceful one to this point, I can't imagine that I'll ever feel peace again. I wonder if my house, my life, will ever NOT feel empty without Derek, even while my heart will always be filled with him. I wonder what sort of grand new adventure Derek is off to, and I wonder what sort of adventure my own life will be as I search for new meaning and new focus and new ways to get through each day and find joy once again.