The first week after Mary’s death was a whirlwind of emotions:
despair, loneliness, love, profound sorrow and disbelief. One morning I
woke up, and with my eyes still closed, I reached over in bed and found
somebody lying next to me. For a split second, I was filled with
overwhelming joy, and I thought, Oh my God! It was all just a bad dream!! Then I looked over, and it was the dog.
I would walk into a room, and was surprised not to find her there.
I would do something that I was proud of and would catch myself thinking, I can’t wait to tell Mary Ellen!
I would sit for hours in a chair, feeling nothing and wanting to do nothing.
Everything and everyone reminded me of her.
I would be going along just fine one moment, and the next moment I would dissolve into convulsing sobs.
My grief was bottomless.
I was surrounded by friends and family, and all of them combined could not fill the black, cold void that I felt at my core.
The great love of my life had been taken from me.
I remember talking out loud to myself saying, “She’s gone. She’s not coming back.”
No matter what I did, I could not escape the hideous, ever-present sorrow and bone-numbing loneliness.
For the first time in my life, I could understand why a person would
commit suicide. I remember thinking as I was driving down the highway to
a relative’s house; it would be so easy to escape this pain! Just close
your eyes, hit gas, and smash into that light pole! My family was
afraid to leave me alone, and for good reason.
Although I never seriously considered suicide as an option, it became
clearer to me the kind of despair and grief that can lead to such
thoughts.
Then, I believe that I had my first visitation from her. (Yes. I
believe in spirits. And I believe that some spirits who loved deeply in
life remain for a while to make sure their loved ones are okay.)
The day after Mary Ellen died, I was numb. Everything was surreal. I
went through the motions of living, but I don’t remember much of the
day.
At five o’clock in the evening, I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything all
day. I didn’t feel hungry or thirsty, and, to be honest, I had simply
forgotten to feed my body. When late afternoon rolled around, however, I
wanted a drink. So I had two rum and Cokes. I was sitting in a chair in
the living room and my friend Norm was sitting on the couch. I stood up
to go into the kitchen for something or another, and suddenly I
incredibly dizzy, and my vision fizzled and failed.
All at once, I was in pitch dark room. I could hear voices but could
not distinguish what they were saying. I heard music, but could not
identify the instrument or the tune. I felt suddenly relaxed and one
hundred percent comfortable, and then I became aware of hands massaging
and caressing both of my arms. And I physically felt those hands just as
surely as I am feeling this keyboard right now with my fingertips.
I wanted to stay there in that state. It was peaceful. It was
pleasant. It was like being gently enveloped in a soft, thick comforter.
But I came out of it, and I was lying on the floor looking up at Norm
who had caught me as I fell backwards. It seemed like I had been gone
for a couple of hours, but Norm told me I was out for only a second or
two. I asked him if he had touched my arms when I fell, and he said no.
He had supported me by my back.
Now, you can think what you want to think. I know I blacked out from a
combination of no food, dehydration and stress. But the hands, the
peace, the comfort. I’ve no doubt that THAT was Mary still here and
still loving and take care of me.