Hey friends, I’m struggling tonight, I’m just going to go ahead and put that out there. I feel compelled to write out some of my thoughts, I hope that’s OK. Before you continue reading I just want you all to know that I love you guys so much. Its not anyone’s job to fix my pain, fix this situation, fix me. I can only do that. Don’t feel like you have to pick up the phone and call me when I go to these darker places. In a way, I think allowing myself to feel this pain is healing. I have found that while it’s incredibly painful to write out my thoughts since this happened, it also gets these feelings off my chest. I’m only sharing my thoughts with you because you are my people and for me, it’s important to be honest with where I’m at with this and be real about it. I don’t do that with many people, I want most to think that I am just fine because I don’t want them to worry. With all of you, I’d rather be real. I promise not to write a lot of sad emails like this. I look forward to a day of happiness again, I hate feeling this way.
So this evening while walking Jake, I had this vision. It’s a tough one so I’m sorry for sharing it, but again, you are my closest friends and I just need to get these feelings off my chest.
I’m driving to Crescent City through the Smith River Gorge. You couldn’t ask for a prettier day really. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the river is emerald green. I am in the back seat staring out the window, trembling. I have a packet I hold tightly in my lap. This consists of my marriage license and John’s birth certificate. You have to actually present these things before he can be turned over to me. I remember while traveling thinking, “who would have thought I’d be presenting my marriage license at a mortuary so I can get John’s remains once he’s cremated, huh.” As we approach Crescent City, I can feel the wave of fear and panic wash over me, my body begins to convulse even more, I actually remember seeing dots and feeling pins/needles. We get to the mortuary and park. I get out of the car and walk slowly towards the entrance, it feels like it takes 10 minutes, every step is exhausting, like I’ve run a marathon. Michael open’s the chapel doors. There is a man waiting there and quietly introduces himself to me as the director and guides me back to an office. I remember stopping at the restroom on the way there and washing cold water over my face, anything to awaken me, I feel like I’m in a dream, none of this is actually happening.
We meet in an office where the director starts talking, again in a whisper. I notice that everyone seems to whisper to me since this has happened, like I might break into pieces if people use normal tones. Whispering is actually soothing. There are tons of papers I am asked to sign with price points. Over $2,000 to cremate John, he would have been so disappointed. I can hear him now, “Muffin for God’s sake, go get some matches and let’s get out of here, what a joke!” John hated to spend money. He was the most frugal person I knew. I can’t hear anything the director is saying, I just attempt to sign everything while my hand just shakes. The director leaves for a moment and my mom exit’s with him, I have no idea why. Michael ask me if he can pray for me. I nod. I can’t remember the details of the prayer, but I know Michael asked God to give me the strength to see John, peace and comfort. After this a sheriff comes into the room. He has a trash bag. He whispers to me that John’s gear is in the trash bag and it’s still wet. My mind wanders. I picture them taking off his helmet, his life jacket, his skirt, were they gentle with him? Kayak gear can be confusing for someone who doesn't understand it. I shake away the thought.
The director then comes back into the office and tells us we can go see John. I literally start to convulse. Mom and Michael tell me that if I want, they will go in first and see him and then tell me yes or no. I trust them. They are only gone for maybe a minute at the most. I sit in the office with Peyton just waiting in silence. My mom appears and says, “you have to see him Erin, trust me.” Michael nods. I try to stand but can’t. Michael comes over and grabs my arm, Peyton the other. The two of them escort me down this long hall like guardian angels and around to two double doors. I dread this moment, screaming inside, once I see him, it’s real. The doors open. There is hymnal music playing, it seems loud. I am standing at what feels like the entrance of a chapel. I look at the end of the aisle and there sits a table with John lying on top of it. I begin to scream. I just remember screaming his name the minute I see him. Michael and Peyton grab me tightly and begin to walk me down the aisle, I just continue screaming. Again, this walk feels like forever, like trying to walk through quick sand. I don't even remember moving my feet, it's like I'm floating. Like the scene in a horror movie where the hallway continues to get further and further away. As we get closer, John is laying on this table completely draped in white sheets. His eyes are shut, mouth is closed and hands are folded neatly across his chest. I have never seen anyone look that beautiful and perfect, yet gone. It's as if he's simply taking a nap, like any minute he could wake up and ask all of us why everyone is so upset. I remember getting to the table and then hanging over him screaming his name over and over and over again. Michael and Peyton continue to hold me by the arms. I start to touch his hands, his face and hair. He is so cold, his hands are freezing. I start to cup my hands around his to try and warm them up, they are so damn cold. I grab his face and pull his cheek to mine to try and give him some warmth. I hang over him sobbing and just saying his name over and over again for what feels like hours. Gradually, I start to feel the panic dull, the tears dry, and this incredible feeling of calmness starts to wash over me. It was unreal.
Finally, I turn to Michael, Peyton and my mom and tell them I am OK to be with him alone now. Michael pulls up a chair for me and then they all leave. It’s just me and John in the chapel together. I grab his hands and hold them in mine and we start to talk. I tell him all the things I would have told him had I known this was coming, had I known that Sunday was our last day on earth together. I apologize to him for all the times I was a nagging wife, I apologize for not nagging him the day he paddled and drowned. What I would give to have been a nagging wife that day and kept him from kayaking. I apologize to him for not talking to him about my faith more often and I apologize that he wasn’t with me in those final moments so I could reassure him he would be fine. I laugh with him for all the hilarious memories we hold, I sob with him for the memories we don’t get to have, the parents we won’t be, the senior citizen special’s we won’t get and more. I make promises to him. Promises to watch over his family, all of you, to take care of Jake and to honor him by continuing to live. I promise him I won’t give up and I’ll continue to live a life of adventure and happiness. I ask him to stay with me, guide me through life, help me to figure this situation out. Most importantly from that conversation, I thank him. I thank him for being my husband, for devoting his love to me and for showing me adventure, confidence and unconditional love. I thank him for bringing out my best self.
I remember after that, standing up and kissing him. I kiss his hands, his cheeks, his forehead, his hair, his lips, his eyes. I just want him to feel my warmth one more time, feel my touch one more time. I whisper in his ear “I love you muffin, I always will and I’ll see you again, what an incredible reunion that will be.” I remember walking backwards out of the chapel, slowly. Trying to savor that last image of him. Peaceful, and beautiful. I know he was there with me during that moment, he heard everything I said and felt my touch. I sure felt his, I’ve never felt that calm and at peace in my entire life. I left him smiling.
About a month before John passed away, we sat down for dinner one evening. Right as I was about to enjoy a mouth full of seasoned chicken thighs, my husband turns to me and says, "Are you afraid to die?" I have to admit, this was a very odd question coming from John. He had never asked me anything like this before. I turned to him and said, "Do you seriously want to talk about this right now?" John said he did and he truly wanted to know how I felt. I told John that I was not afraid to die. While I don't want to have a terrible death, I am not afraid. I truly believe that there is something so much bigger than what is happening right here on this earth and its magnificent. I told him that our time here is temporary, and I believe our lives continue after we die. He said, "Well, if that's the case, why do you get stressed about the things here on earth? Why do you get stressed about bills, me not doing laundry, your job, money?" I said, "Well muffin, I'm a human being, and I'm your wife, these are just the realities of the world we live in." John sat there and seemed to ponder what I had said. He then said, "Well, I have to admit, I am terrified to die. What if our lives just end, what if that is it and there is no preparation for it?" I looked at him and said, "Muffin, look around you. Look at where we live. Look at the beauty you are surrounded by and the wonderful life that you have. I think what is important is that you are a good person, you live a full life, you do the right thing, give back to the earth and you love. I think in the end, when your time comes, all of this will make sense to you, and it won't be terrifying, it will be peaceful, you will understand." He looked at me for a while, smiled, and we went right back to our chicken thighs. I remembered that conversation as I slowly walked out of the chapel, I am so glad he asked me.
Weeks later I am driving with my dad, the same route to the same mortuary in Crescent City, CA. We get there and again, the director greets me with his whisper voice. They present me with death certificates. There I see my husband’s name. Cause of death: Freshwater drowning. Wow. He comes out with a large bag with a box in it and tells me “here are John’s ashes.” He tells me to take it with two hands for it is very heavy. I grab it and am shocked by how heavy it is. We drive back to Grants Pass in silence. I get home and take this box up to our reading room, this peaceful nook of a room John and I put together the day before he passed away. I sit him on the book shelf, looking out at the mountains.
I attempted to take some ashes and summit Grayback mountain this past weekend (John and I's first hike together in Oregon) so I could spread him. I got to the box and couldn’t even open it. I want to spread him, I feel so bad for leaving him in our reading room every day while I go to work, mountain biking, kayaking, walks, dinners, etc. He deserves to be outside where he loved, but I just can’t let him go yet. I want to keep him with me. Some nights I sit in the reading room in silence with him. It's hard to imagine how this vibrant, strong, heart beating husband of mine no longer physically exist, yet sits in a box in my house. How is that possible? How is that fair? But for now, he remains in our reading room, gazing out at the mountains. I’d like to spread him with each of you at some point in a place that was special to you and him. I think that would be really great. One day.
After sharing these thoughts with my friends, one of John's best friends and a close friend of mine sent me a note. Here is what it said:
"Erin
One thing that strikes about your visit with John is it can be such a positive allegory to this longer experience that you're going though. Grieve now, communicate with him as you can, and draw yourself as close to him as possible. I find it interesting that Friends helped you into the chapel, during the darkest part of your vision, but you moved slowly into the day's sunlight on your own. Don't stay in the chapel with John forever. Know absolutely that the love between you is eternal and that there is no need to fear slighting him by moving beyond him. He is with you. I hope that you and I can paddle the Gauley and ride Douthat with John again soon, and in old age, through the ashes."
My friend is so right. John would not want me to stay in the Chapel with him. He wouldn't want that for any of us. He's on his next adventure, I plan to continue mine here until I can see him again. God's grace is sufficient. He reminds me of this everyday when I get up and am greeted by the mountains and the sun. He reminds me that John is OK, that he's got his arms wrapped around John, and he's utilizing John for a huge purpose. I'm so proud of John for that.
Scream Erin. Scream. Never thought that I would say that to anyone or to have felt appropriate in typing this on your blog but good for you for releasing what was in your system when you first saw John; and hope that it did help you release what I was unable to release for years.
ReplyDeleteAt the time of my mother's death; I was too young to know how to respond or deal with the horrific emotions that her death entailed (as your blog continues to help me revalidate the emotions that I have explored and continue to re-explore for healing); so I just stuffed it down in me & I'm just becoming to learn at the age of 29 -- that it was so necessary in my case to feel and release that type of terror I was experiencing at the time of my mother's death because having to relocate that kind of terror during a lead fall and facing it for the first time 22 years later was so horrific this summer. I came down crying hysterically ... hahaha after not taking just ONE but TWO falls on the 50 feet wall.
Over the past two years; I have figured out how to rebuild parts of what was interrupted during my mother's death through rock climbing and to utilize the wall as a form of therapy. Peak Experiences has worked magic for me. I was able to consolidate years of therapy in a matter of 6 months on the wall but ... the kind of bloody murder that came out of me during my first lead fall shook me to the core. I couldn't believe the amount of terror and hysteria that still resided in my body after all these years until I heard it myself ..... & I am beginning to learn about how heavy that terror must have felt inside me; festering itself into anger until I was able to relive such an experience again -- and get it lifted off of my chest.
I simply didn't know how to react to the death of my mother in that capacity as a child; I actually remember being rather modest (mentally) about the situation when the doctor declared her death to me in the hallway and behaving like I was expected to by the surrounding adults (even though my physically body remembers more than what I was able to mentally processed at the time). I remember crying shortly after my mother died but then becoming completely detached from that event for many years. (I even remember telling a friend 16 years later that I don't know how to cry about my mother's death and always knew that there was something wrong with that notion). ...
& I believe that -- that sudden detachment also resulted into even further detachment issues as a child and as a grown adult. I was never able to access, trust or use any sensations in my body as a form of guide in my life. I feared my body. I feared it's sensations & it has currently taken a few years of yoga to finally resynchronize the physical body with my mind again ... & to feel the difference after doing so ... completely transformative ...
& As much as my personal life has greatly progressed after those lead falls; my climbing has plateau to a degree because I'm more fearful on the wall then when I first started climbing. I haven't figured out how to take another lead yet. My lead falls this summer activated my PTSD to what felt like a point of no return at the time because it took my body a long time to recalibrate itself ... but I have chosen to keep climbing. It's still very hard top rope but I have decided to continue to work through this because I love climbing and the adventures too much to just plateau in this sport. My love for this sport may just have to override the fear one day ... at least I hope so :)