Now I See You, Now I Don’t
A Reflection
I used to see Andrew around quite a lot after he died, walking along the streets of our town, never near enough to tap his shoulder so he would turn and smile at me ... so we’d fall into each other’s arms….
I knew of course it was never really him, just someone who, for a moment, looked like him. Amazing how many short, slightly stocky, white-haired blokes there were around our streets in those days – for the first few years.
It doesn’t seem to happen any more. It’s been eight years now, after all. How is that possible? It’s so ‘only yesterday’! I can summon up, fresh and vivid, any and all details of our lives together; of him. Sometimes I like to dwell on those memories, play with them. We had some very nice times. All our times were good even when they weren’t, by virtue of being together.
I found, accidentally, a trick to ease missing Selene, my little cat who died early last year (nearly 21 months ago). I have a teddy bear collection. I was thinking I should cull them, and had the smallish dark brown one in my hand to put near the door, ready to take to the op shop for some parent or grandparent to find.
Something happened on the way – maybe the phone rang – and I popped him down in the second armchair instead, the one I don’t sit in. It’s the one Selene used to occupy, next to mine, while I watched TV in the evenings. Next time I went past, this little dark furry shape gave me, for a moment, the illusion that she was there in her accustomed place. It continues to do so. I like it. That bear’s not going to the op shop after all.
I know all the time, even as I experience it, that this is an illusion – a comforting one. But when I used to see Andrew walking our streets, for a quick moment I believed it real. Every time. Then there was the pang of realisation, loss all over again.
Strange, the ways of grief – and of dealing with grief. No two journeys, even the one person’s, ever exactly the same.
Sharing with Writers' Pantry #48 at Poets and Storytellers United
(369 words exactly)
I can imagine the pain that comes the moment of seeing someone we lost a long time ago and then losing them again right away. Still, I think seeing their faces, even if for just a second, might be worth the hurt.
ReplyDeleteAh but it's not the face that one sees. It's a back view with familiar shape and colouring, or even a side glimpse. It's when one sees the wrong face after all that the pain hits. Or when you never see the face, but it dawns on you that's not quite the right height after all, or clothing, or way of walking....
DeleteYou’ve captured that familiar feeling so well in this piece, Rosemary, I had a lump in my throat. The world seems to consist of people who look like the one person we can never see or meet again. With cats it’s different, as there are so many with similar markings, so they have other ways of showing us that they’re still around. The paragraph about the ‘little dark furry shape’ of the bear reminded me of a similar incident.
DeleteYou think the 'sightings' are one way the dear departed show us they're still around? You could well be right!
DeleteHaving lost my wife Maureen just on ten years ago, how this account resonates with me as well. I was with her when she died in hospital but that didn't stop the sightings of what could of been her at a distance in and around where I lived as though she was checking on me as a form of reassurance.
ReplyDeleteI'm sure it must happen to everyone who has has that kind of loss. (I was with Andrew when he died, too.)
DeleteYou are very brave. It must be terribly terribly hard. I know everyone must go through it...I hope I go first. Hugs x
ReplyDeleteThanks for the hugs. I don't know if it's bravery; it's just that there's really no choice but to keeping putting one foot in front of the other, and after a while you notice time has passed....
DeleteWho can understand the mysteries of the mind. Luv the comfort in keeping that teddy bear.
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunday
(✿◠‿◠)
much love...
That warms my heart!
Deletei think, the feelings one had for someone he/she dearly missed is very strong. it is as if he strongly wish to see the person again, but that could bring about another round of grief.
ReplyDeleteit happened to me too. sometimes a face, a laugh, a dress or a gait, on public transport, at a mall. i have written about this in my blog too.
No one ever goes away. Those we loved last longer than strangers, but...no one; ever. Wonderful write R.
ReplyDeleteIllusions can be comforting, so maybe embracing them for as long as they last (and they usually don't last long) is the way of wisdom.
ReplyDeleteI still stare at people who have some of my deceased brother's features. We put up an owl to scare away the birds who peck at out windows and it still fools and scares me when I see it! Thanks for the memories.
ReplyDeleteI love this. Your love will live on in you forever.
ReplyDeleteYou make the difficult visible--it leaves me a little in awe. After losing our dogs, I noticed that I was more comforted than startled by those shadows you notice every so often out of the corner of the eye. A sense that something watchful remained helped.
ReplyDelete*Sigh.* Imagining a lost loved one is bittersweet. Once I dreamed of someone I lost and I was suddenly awakened. I burst into tears. I'm glad you found a trick to ease missing your Selene. I am still figuring out mine over the loss of my fur kid Mozart three years ago. Sending hugs to you.
ReplyDeleteIt's nearly 40 years my husband is gone, and there are still times I glimpse someone whose image gives me a start. There are people indelibly imprinted in our thought banks, who quite literally become a part of us for all time.
ReplyDeleteHow this resonates with me. Not quite a year since my Brad died. I drive these roads and I think I will see his truck tearing past or parked in the drive of our home or see him walking about the yard. I never do though. I love that you kept the kept the bear that puts you mind of Selene. Such a beautiful cat.
ReplyDeleteAnd then there is the thought that one might hear him pull into the driveway ... an expectation, even.
DeleteA dear friend of mine who passed away some time ago had three children. All of them have a bit of him about them, but his son especially is the spitting image. When I see his picture on Facebook these days, I do a double take because he's getting to the age we were when we became friends.
ReplyDeleteSo many thoughts, emotions running thru me after reading this ~~ a keen sense of missing my parents, grandparents ... good friends who left way, way too soon. A simple thank you for sharing your experience with all of us. Cheers.
ReplyDeleteDespite having been brought up in a tradition that frowns on efforts to communicate with the dead, I've found some comfort in flashes of memory: at least my memory of the person still lives. Disposing of my husband's things, I mentally asked his memory what to do with them, and things I remembered his having said popped into mind.
ReplyDeletePeople who resembled him, but weren't--especially if they were other British West Indians taking an interest in his estate!--were not comforting at all. I enjoy Gillena Cox's writing voice and Caribbean music now. I would have avoided it in the years right after he died. Even with the differences of age and gender.