Somewhere In Between My Biggest and Second Biggest Fear

My Dearest Janet - October 30, 2023

I have so many things I want to tell you and a couple of things I want to ask you. I’m not sure where to start. As always, I have a million and one thoughts and questions swirling throughout my being. All of them believing they’re the most important one to share with you. I promise I will eventually get through all of them. It’s probably the only way to find peace with what happened.

I guess the first question I want to ask is … “Can you hear me?”

Do you remember that I asked you something similar sometime after your death? I visited you in your world and was sitting by a gravel road in the grass with Recksy by my side. I sensed your presence behind me and I asked if you could see me. You answered, “Yes, I can see you.”

My heart has ballooned with energy just thinking about that time. Excitement? Fear? Hope? Numerous emotions just swirling around each other. Far too many to list.

That energy is extremely high today. It started yesterday and left me numb and in heartbreaking pain all day. It’s more intense today, the fifteenth anniversary of your death from a car accident on your way home from work.

I have so many questions about what happened. Those will have to wait for another day.

I have things to share about what I experienced in the days between your death and your funeral. I’m still not sure how I managed to survive them. In a way, I don’t think I did. I’m beginning to think that I will never truly survive your death.

You weren’t supposed to die first. And yet you did. You were almost ten years younger than me. Not that I ever thought of who would die first. It never crossed my mind before your death. Why would it?

I still don’t know what to say and I feel like I’m rambling … so let’s start here.

I miss you so incredibly much. I’m surprised at how deeply it still hurts to not have you in my life. One would think that I would have gotten over it by now. At least that’s what was suggested to me many years ago. It felt forceful and unkind …

“Don’t you think it’s time you got over it?”

I now hide how I feel and the grief I’m still experiencing. At times I think it’s because there is a sort of embarrassment surrounding it. Today the belief seems to be that I should have moved on within days.

We’re forced into shoving our feelings away in the deep corners of our hearts. A combination of staying safe from the judging eyes of others and perhaps wanting to hold on tightly to what little we have left. Our memories? They’re not enough.

I know I have mentioned this before, but I’ve never really explored it so maybe it’s time.

Sometime shortly after your death, I wrote these words:

My biggest fear is that I will feel this way for the rest of my life … My second biggest fear is that I won’t.

I had hurt so much in those first few days, weeks, months, and yes … years. I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces when I was told that you had been killed. The pain so intense that Mac had to catch me as I slumped to the floor. I wasn’t strong enough to hold that pain upright. I didn’t want to know that pain every day forever. I wouldn’t have survived it. In a way I didn’t, except … I’m still here, existing and not really living …

somewhere in between my biggest and second biggest fear.

My second biggest fear was that I would forget you completely. That I wouldn’t remember what we meant to each other or the unconditional love we shared for each other. That you would somehow fade away from my thoughts, from my life. You haven’t. It’s probably safe to say at this point that you never will.

The pain of not having you in my life anymore isn’t as intense as it used to be. But it is still here. At times just as strong as the day you died. Like today. My body knows what the day means even without knowing what the date is. It’s somehow become part of who I am. A knowing of sorts. A longing of what will never be again, no matter how many times I wished it was different.

It was on the day you died that I fully realized that you can never go back and change something. What is said is always said, what is done is always done, and one who dies is lost forever.

I could not tell you how many times I’ve wished I could hear your voice one more time. Experience your arms wrapped around me in a loving hug. Hear the phone ring and know that it’s you on the other end. There are so many things I wish I could go back to.

Even if I knew that I would have to experience how I felt the day you died if I went back in time, I would still do it … in a heartbeat. Why? Because I know that the price of knowing you for forty-one years is living with this silent pain that I carry. I also know that the only reason I feel this is because of who you were and who we were together. Our relationship was a gift, one to be so very thankful and grateful for. And I am.

I wanted to share that I’ve started writing memoir.

I have finished the messy first draft of my childhood. One that I never shared with you. I’ve never told anyone, not even my husband.

A few years ago I somehow gained a whisperer who adamantly, almost in a foot-stomping way, suggested that I write my story. She was relentless, and still is. Except her whispers changed about a year ago.

She wants me to write our story. I tried. I couldn’t. Every time I sat down to write I had to stop. It hurt far too much. Even more than it hurt to write the messy first draft of my childhood.

I’ve decided instead to start by telling you, in my letters, what happened to me when you died.

Dad died in November. My whisperer is now also strongly suggesting that I write that story as well. There’s almost an urgency to her suggestions. As though I’ve been taking far too long to put pen to paper.

I have another question I need to ask of you …

Are you my whisperer?

I feel a resounding reply,

“Yes. I’m surprised it took you this long to realize that it couldn’t have possibly been anyone but me. You have stories to tell. People need to read what you write. For heavens sake … write!”

I’m chuckling at what just happened. It sounds exactly like you. I need time to absorb this and to reflect on what just happened. It was totally unexpected. To be honest, so was the thought that maybe, just maybe, you are my whisperer. It makes perfect sense.

Until next time …

You’re loving sister,

Alice