The Healing Power of Memories
September 24 was on Friday ten years ago and became the longest and saddest day of my life. At seven o’clock that morning a fairly cold and matter-of-fact internist told me my wife had five systems shutting down and they had never been able to save anyone with that many. She went through the list of things they were going to do anyway and left my daughters and me sitting in stunned silence and disbelief. My wife had entered the hospital the night before with what we thought was a case of dehydration.
Thus, began a day of her heart stopping and having to be started again and visiting her dressed in every conceivable garb to avoid spreading germs and talking to my love hoping she could hear in spite of being in a coma. She died at one thirty the next morning, and I discovered that writing a bunch of books about grief did not do a thing to make mine easier nor take less time. It did help me be aware of what was happening and reaffirm the things I had written and taught. I could write a long list here but to honor Barbara Maddox Manning on this tenth anniversary I want to just say one thing.
GRATITUDE TIES A KNOT AT THE END OF THE ROPE
Barbara always enjoyed watching the major horse races each year. That seemed strange since she had only been to one race in her life and that was not a major event and there is no way she would ever place a bet on anything. She had all the gambling her life could stand when she took a chance on marrying me.
About five years after her death I was watching the last of the races and there happened to be one horse that won the Triple Crown. At first, I was sad that Barbara wasn’t there to see it with me. Then memories began to flood my mind and soul. I began remembering all the times we did watch together, not only the races but life its own self. I began thinking of all the trips we took together. We visited every state and all but two by car. We did not drive to Hawaii or Alaska. We drove to every province of Canada except Newfoundland, and rarely ever turned the radio on in the car. We just talked and enjoyed being together. Of course, we were old enough that we could tell the same stories over and over and neither of us would remember.
Sitting there that day I realized again that we do not know what we have lost until we lose it. Remembering what it felt like to hold her close and realizing I would never feel that again made it clear that my love for her was much deeper than I knew at the time. Holding her felt like something was passing between us and feeding my soul. I often told her it was like a jet airplane hooking up with a tanker in mid-air and filling up with fuel.
As these thoughts rushed through my mind I began to be overwhelmed with gratitude. I was so grateful for our time together and so thankful that we did not spend our time trying to change one another and fighting. We just became friends in love.
Then it hit me. The memories I was loving and enjoying that day were the same memories that had given me the most pain when she died. The things that once brought tears and pain now filled me with joy and peace. Maybe that is the ultimate goal of the grieving process. To turn memories that hurt into the ones we love the most. If so, the key is Gratitude. Somehow, we must find a way to be grateful for what we had. If we can’t do that, we may well always be the victim of what we have lost.