Letting go, and memories

I notice that in my last post, and a few others, I have used the term ‘letting go’. Although my heart knows I can’t just stop grieving, that I can’t just snap my fingers and stop missing B, I think that’s what my head was secretly hoping for, to be able to just let go of the past and to move into a happy future. But, of course, life isn’t like that!

At the moment, I am reading a book called ‘Mindfulness’ by Christophe Andre. It’s a lovely book and I am finding it really helpful; it actually has a chapter entitled ‘Let Go’. In it, he describes letting go as “just being where we are, being present, with a particular mental attitude. Not trying to be in control or find a solution. Just being there and trusting in what will come.” I found this so helpful! That is what I am trying to do (and what I was partly grappling with in my last post): to experience the sadness when it sweeps over me whilst avoiding all those skewed, unhelpful thoughts that can fly in from nowhere; to enjoy any happiness that does appear whilst trying not to feel guilty that I can be happy without B. Before understanding this, I think my head just wanted to forget without forgetting, and, obviously, that is impossible! I have to trust that if I continue to grieve, and don’t hide away from my sorrow, that I will … what? Writing this, I realise that the temptation is still to think about having, or hoping for, a happy future but none of us know what the future holds. So, it’s about trying to live in the present with all the ups and downs that that entails, and trying to grasp those small, transitory moments that ultimately contribute to making life happy (again).

Life is ephemeral, happiness is made up of fleeting moments, and I am realising that my most precious memories of B and myself are those that engender warm or happy feelings (even if they still make me feel sad). It isn’t about the occasions themselves but how they made me feel. Yes, I remember the places we visited, the things we did, but it is because of how we were in that space that brings the memory alive. For example, gently wandering around a beautiful garden, content in each other’s company, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the scent of the flowers. Another example is the occasion of my fiftieth birthday party when I said I definitely didn’t want any speeches but, lo and behold, B got up and made a speech! I can’t remember what he said (if you were there and you do, please let me know) and a little part of me was cross but, more than anything else, I felt appreciated, special and joyful. It was who we were that shapes my memories and makes them special, even if I can’t particularly remember the details. It was because we were together, enjoying the moment.

This leads me on to one of my pet irritations, the term ‘making memories’. I think I must be getting old, but ‘in my day’ (!) we just did things, be it times with family, holidays, fun with friends, etc, and now I look back with fondness – happy memories. It’s the same with B and me. Thankfully, I have lots of good memories of the time we shared together, but we didn’t set out to ‘make memories’, we would just go on holiday, or out for a meal, or a walk, and we enjoyed ourselves and now I think of these times with happiness, at least when they don’t make me sad. But what about all the other times? Does that mean they are not worth remembering? I think of time when B and I just sat on the sofa convulsed with laughter at something so little that I can’t even remember what it was, but we were both in pain as we couldn’t stop; those hugs in bed before we went to sleep; holding hands walking along the street; sitting on the bus together. None of these are spectacular events, but, to me at least, these moments are just as important as all those other ‘bigger’ memories, if not more so. They were the essence of who we were together. In the end, it’s all those little things combined that led to our happiness and contentment. Sometimes, I think, we expect too much and then we miss the important things in life.

I think of our last year together, when we were in lockdown and we knew that B was dying. On the whole, life was undramatic, apart from various medical happenings, which punctuated the weeks. We were at home, unable to go out, and we negotiated the bumps in the road as they came along, but I remember it as a good time, despite all the frustrations and sorrows. I can’t imagine anybody putting this on their list as a way of making memories, but it was still a time I shall look back on, despite all the difficulties, with thankfulness, and as a time of peace and contentment – perhaps, I have reframed it, but that is okay, too. So, I continue on my journey through grief, balancing the sadness with the good, and it is getting a little easier. The other morning, I woke up and didn’t immediately jump out of bed as is my wont, and I found myself thinking about how B and I first got to know each other, how we gradually became good friends, and how this then developed into something more. The important thing was I didn’t feel sad. I just enjoyed the happiness of the moment and I was able to smile. What we had was good. One more little step out of the darkness…