Just when I thought my saddest days were behind me, I’m sideswiped like I was today. No matter what I read, no matter what I watched on TV, the floodgates opened and my tears were unstoppable.
I don’t know what the impedes was, but whatever it was I was reminded at how raw my loss still is. Don’t misunderstand me I didn’t think I was over my loss. How could I be? How does anyone “get over” the loss of a loved one? Is it even possible?
To make matters worse, while turning channels I came across the movie, “Chapter Two” by Neil Simon. It’s about his life and the loss of his love, his first wife, and the subsequent meeting, falling in love and marrying, Marsha Mason, wife number two…or Chapter Two.
There was a scene after a night of lovemaking that he got out of bed seeking solitude in the living room. Marsha comes out to find him and see if he’s okay. He’s not. He tells her that not a day, or a minute of any day goes by that he doesn’t think of his wife. Marsha is consoling and very understanding.
For me, it rung too true and I cried out loud and for a long while. After that everything I watched made me cry. “You’ve Got Mail” was playing on another channel. I tuned it in thinking it would be lighter fare. But it mattered not
I flicked back to “Chapter Two”. James Caan was kissing Marsha gently, passionately….and I could feel it…and I cried some more. I turned back to Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in “You’ve Got Mail”. It was the scene where she’s in bed with a horrible cold and he brings her daisies and heats Meg a bowl of soup.
The moments on the screen were so reminiscent of my gentle love that it made me cry. Made me lonely for his tenderness and his sweet look. I could feel him reach for my hand and kiss my fingers. I could almost smell him…but sadly I could not.
Then tonight were the SAG Awards and they made me sad because I knew my Philip was always destined to be world acknowledged for his brilliance.
For years he joked that when he was called to the stage at the Academy of Motion Pictures to pick up his Academy Award that he was going to say, “Next time build a ramp!” I smiled briefly in the memory of his humor, but tears streamed down my cheeks because it never came to pass.
The eighteenth of this month marked 16-months since his passing. There are times I can barely catch my breath for the depth of my sadness for the loss of him. I’m told he’s around me, but I don’t feel him. I want to, but I don’t.
A couple of times last month the leaves on our driveway were swept away in such a fashion that it appeared that his wheelchair had left a clear pathway from the gate to the front steps. It gave me a brief sense of glee. Could he possibly have left me a sign?
But then I imagine that God in His or Her wisdom would have long freed him from the captivity of his wheelchair. When I do picture him as I imagine he would be I see him running, because I know that’s what he’d want to be doing. So, it’s doubtful the driveway clearing is a sign. More likely it’s just happenstance.
We always promised one another that if we could we would give the other a sign. But I haven’t had a tangible sign. Sometimes I wake up and my lips are pursed as if I’m kissing him. There’s a smile on my face and my spirit is lighter. Could that be my sign?
His favorite anti-war poster is often askew. He liked it that way, and whenever I’d straighten it he’d tilt it. Nowadays, no matter how often I straighten it the next time I gaze in its direction it’s crooked. It always makes me smile. Could that be my sign?
Last year I went to see John Edward, the psychic when he was performing at the Florida Theatre. I wanted so much for him to single me out and tell me something that would ring true that he was seeing and hearing my Philip. But, nay, that too, didn’t happen.
Sitting in his audience, I understood why. There were so many, very needy, very sad people in his audience with tragic stories of loss. They were far more important then my want.
I’ve gone to the psychic village Cassadega twice. I was told some things that were truly psychic, but I didn’t get any clear message that I knew would have been from my Philippe’, my love.
Perhaps as he wrote before his coma set in: “Respect life itself. As we thought this is the end.” Just writing these words makes me cry…I don’t want this to be so. He was going in and out of consciousness and it makes me wonder if he wasn’t privy to what would be?
Tomorrow will be another day. A less sad day I’m certain…I’m thankful these days that there are more good days than not.