It’s fortunate I live alone at the moment. If I were around others, you’d deem me certifiably nuts. You see, all day long, silently and aloud, I talk to Mike. And the one question I ask him over and over, as I try to deal with this unfathomable new reality is – What would you have done if I was the one who died and left you alone? If you were here instead of me – what would Michael Farrell Powell do?
The answers come fast and furious, but just as though he were here – they change with the day, even with the sentence. Mike’s world was never set in stone. The critical answer centers on whether or not, in this mythical place, he had cancer. For most of my answers, I choose to believe he did not.
I rage against the injustice of losing him. Mike wouldn’t have wasted the time. Even through his grief, he would have gotten on with life and living, I think. When he got cancer, I was mad at the world. Furious with God. Michael chastised me and told me that was futile, pointless energy spent. It wasn’t God’s fault. It just was. We’d been dealt a lousy hand.
Mike had to live through the pain and the treatments, and he had to leave everyone and everything he loved when he died. I had to watch him go through that hell, lose the love of my life, and try to carry on without him. In reality, I got the better end of the deal. I’m still here. But half of me is gone. What would Mike do?
People tell me – but you’re not Mike. Do what JC would do. That’s the issue. When I was faced with this in 2011, when Al died, I headed for the corner of the couch. Nope. Not going back there again. It’s like the old line – I’ve been rich, and I’ve been poor – and rich is better! That’s me. I’ve been over the moon with happiness and in the pits of hell with depression – and believe me, happy is ever so much better.
Michael always said if I passed first, he didn’t want my stuff around. I reminded him that most of our furniture and our household goods came from my side of the family! He agreed, and revised that to mean all my stuff in our various storage cubbies. That made sense.
While Mike, age and moving have loosened my grip on “stuff”, I’m still not touching his world to pack it away. Not yet. Quite a lot of it, not ever. I don’t want to erase our home. But one thing at a time, I’m donating, picking up, rearranging. I’m in no hurry there.
I know Mike would have called the house-sitters and headed for Coffman Cove just as fast as he could. And so am I. That’s home. That blue water and those people are healing. And that’s a world where he knew everything as simply as breathing, and I do not. But I will learn.
I also know Mike would have gotten himself on a schedule. He’d have been up early, watched the news, had coffee, and gotten about his day. Lunched. Worked hard at something all day long, showered, fixed dinner and relaxed for a couple of hours. He would have found friends to cook for and with, and he would have reached out and expanded our circle of friends. He would have joined a local church. All those things are on my list. I am a night owl by nature. He called me his vampire baby. But I learned to exist – and even enjoy – Mike’s schedule. And I’m working to recreate it.
Mike’s world revolved more around physical actions. Doing, fixing, building. Outdoors stuff. His hobbies were active ones – creating things in the shop, hunting, fishing. My world is more cerebral. I write, read, do needlework, make jewelry. My work is on the phone, on the computer. But I love the outdoors world that Mike pulled me into.
I have to morph into someone who embraces both our worlds in order to keep the life I love ticking along. As Mike always said – there’s a project everywhere I look! I have confidence it will happen – but it won’t happen if I give into grief and let it overtake me. I started out after his death going as fast as I could to stay busy. The last two weeks, in comparison, I’ve slowed way down. I’ve gotten a lot accomplished, but I’ve also rested. I’m finding that the last few months took much more out of me than I realized. But it’s time to speed up again.
I guess my biggest surprise is that I’m functioning. It’s been just over a month that he’s not been physically by my side. And I hate it. And I hate the empty road ahead without Mike. But that’s not productive, either. Mike always told me – You need to either get on with the business of living, or get on with the business of dying.
Now isn’t my time to go. Not today, at any rate. So I will get on with the business of living.
I’ll be asking what Mike would do for the rest of my life. All answers aren’t coming today…or next week, next month or even next year. But together we will continue to navigate life, even though only one of us is here to leave footprints behind…at 62.
At 62 