Let breezes sweetly whisper through the trees at midday
Let clouds drift lazily across a buoyant spring sky
Let the sun’s brilliance gild rugged hillsides nearby
And let it all remind me that this day is holy
Let friends call and listen tenderly to my pain
Let strangers offer a kind word or gesture
Let hours pass and leave no trace of regret
Let this day unfold with a gentleness born of grace
And let it all remind me that this day is holy
There is no denying this world looks different to me now my future blurred by uncertainty love’s healing work barely begun and the cruel finality of death no longer merely an idea
But let the birds sing in the morning let friends be present by my side let moments of contentment quietly come let memories wash over me like a balm let joy one day follow these days of mourning let healing imperceptibly take root and grow
And let it all remind me if I have the courage to see it that this day indeed is holy
I didn’t truly understand before how deep loss can pull you under how traumatic death can feel how it ends a world
I knew that death was profoundly painful for the ones left behind I knew it was life-altering I knew it was accompanied by many tears and heart-stopping screams in the night and even cursing of the darkness but I didn’t really understand
I knew that life is fragile that our days are not guaranteed that while we bear the divine image we live in mortal bodies and that it can all end in an instant
I knew that I wanted to show others empathy that I wanted to accompany them in their pain and that because of my calling I was a visible reminder of the holy whenever I visited the dying or grieving but I didn’t really understand
A world ended for me this day
January 27, 2021
While the world around me carried on as though nothing had happened my world collapsed it burned itself out it shut itself down it ended
My world was you and me in all the sacred messiness of our relationship in all the hopefulness for life yet to be lived in all the simple joys of faithful companionship in all the blessings of traveling this road together
Then in a moment it was gone
And I finally began to understand
Had I tried to imagine the searing pain the throbbing heartache the sickening permanency that accompanies such a loss I doubt I could have
Empathy only reaches so far
So here I am wounded disoriented vulnerable frightened alone
A world ended for me this day It was the world with you, my beloved, in it
In the morning as you cautiously rise from your side of the bed I am there.
I am waiting hoping it has been a restful night.
You are out of breath from the simple act of sitting up. You are tired in more ways than anyone can know.
Yet your smile reaches out and melts me. Will I remember the feeling of this moment?
Memory is imperfect when up against the complex beauty of a human soul. Memory only goes so far and then you want nothing less than to be in the presence again of the one you love.
You are sitting there on your side of the bed and motion me to come near. The nearness is the most comforting to you as well as me.
You lean forward placing your head against my chest and rest and breathe quietly prayerfully beautifully
and then you raise your head and look into my eyes and I into yours and without words we are reassured love is here.
Our vows till death do us part will soon reach their consummation and yet love only increases and mystifies me in its tenacious hold over me.
You are the rest of me you said to me more than once and I truly believe it for in those eyes I get lost in you for all time.
~ Mark Lloyd Richardson For my beloved Dallis March 16, 2021
Eight years after her initial stage-4 breast cancer diagnosis, my wife Dallis, the love of my life, succumbed to this horrible disease. She made a valiant and determined effort to live, and thoroughly enjoyed all the remaining days and years she was given, and yet on January 27 of this year, she breathed her last breath with me and her daughter Wendy by her side. Since then, my emotions and frame of mind have been swinging wildly all over the place, and I write to give voice to the internal struggles I feel and to try to make sense of my place in the world now that she is gone. Here is something I wrote a few days ago, and then let sit for a while before sharing. I wouldn’t read it if I were you!
Attending to the broken places (Just when you thought it was safe to read my writings)
Among the questions that grip me and won’t let go are: How was it possible for her to leave me? How could she say goodbye to our shared life? How was she able to give up on our future dreams?
The very questions trouble me, for they sound like accusations. They also sound unanswerable, and yet not considering them hurts too.
My intellect tells me that my beloved needed to choose personal agency over the constant intrusions of medical necessity. Her quality of life had deteriorated so much that no other path seemed tolerable.
In a sense, she had no choice but to say to everyone, including those dearest to her, enough is enough: I don’t want to do this anymore. I feel more like a bundle of problems to be tackled than the living, breathing human being who once found so much joy in being alive!
Still, the questions haunt me: How was she able to pull it off? Was my love for her too little to hold her here – at least long enough to bring her nearer to a time a healing, to tip the scales toward life and wholeness?
And lamentably there are other unanswerable questions: How did she think I would feel when she was gone? What did she suppose would be left of me without her? Did she not imagine how abandoned I would feel?
In case there’s any doubt, this is me stumbling around in the murky land of self-pity and blame. This is me doubting myself and the adequacy of my love. This is, in other words, the ugly, petty underside of grief where it’s all about me, all about my struggle to breathe again, all about my pain, my sorrow, my emptiness palpable in every room every movement every decision every discarded dream every flood of tears.
So, I urge you to avert your eyes. This is the pathetic, needy portion of grief. There is nothing lovely here, nothing beautiful, nothing worthy of admiration. Only sad proof of all the broken places where my wounded heart now lives.
Let us be in agreement that death is a thief that robs us of what we most cherish.
It may be the natural passage from this human life, it may be what is expected out of this crash course we call living, it may be the final remedy for being chronically mortal, but it robs us, nonetheless.
Let us be in agreement that death does not treat us kindly.
It creates a gaping hole in our lives that cannot be filled, it turns us inside out and upside down in our grief, it brings us to our knees where we can only beg for mercy, and it stings with deadly force.
Let us be in agreement that death takes no prisoners.
It causes us to question the worth of our own lives, it guilts us into wondering why we live when our loved one does not, it menaces us with our own imminent demise, and it cares not at all about trampling on our will to live.
Yet let us also be in agreement that death can never have the last word.
It cannot sever love’s bonds forged through unbroken daily loyalties, it cannot break apart the commitments we have made to one another, it cannot steal our memories of our beloved’s beautiful being, it cannot annul our deep affections for the one we have loved and lost, it cannot silence the resilient song of love in our hearts, it cannot prevent us from choosing to love still.
Even though it hurts beyond imagining, death does not have the final word – love is stronger than death!
Tomorrow will be one month since Dal died. In all of our nineteen years together we were never apart for more than two weeks. This is our longest separation and it’s only going to grow longer. I cannot make sense of it. I appear to be alive – I’m breathing by some miracle, I’m seeing friends and talking to people, I’m walking the dog, I’m eating occasionally, although I’ve lost twenty pounds – yet I don’t feel very alive. Contrary to the Bible, death does in fact sting! Not only does it sting, but it renders the one left behind feeling mortally wounded.
Dal and I talked about the end of life sometimes, and we always agreed that we needed to go out together because neither of us could imagine life without the other. We understood the foolishness of this thinking, of course; nonetheless, it was our way of naming how deeply connected we felt to one another, as though we were one flesh. Indeed, we were, and that flesh has been torn asunder.
The reality is, as I sit here in this home we created together, as I contemplate this life we built together, as I recall the future we dreamt of together, it all keeps coming back to this – I don’t know how to live in this world without her, not really. I can’t see the way forward. I can’t imagine ever feeling whole again. Often, I’m not even sure I have the desire to live. What’s the point? This is not me being suicidal. It’s me plumbing the depths of my grief where my desire to live lies beaten and bloodied, struggling to get back up.
You were playing in the clouds today as cottony puffs were slowly teased apart and feathery wisps were pulled out along the edges of a dramatic blue canvas of endless sky where your artistic vision could be unfurled.
So many times, you pointed out cloud formations and marveled at their enchanting possibilities for holding both memories and dreams as you paused in awe before each intricate display and wondered why delight didn’t meet everyone here.
Ashes to ashes dust to dust take on new meaning when the phone rings and a cheerful voice on the other end informs me that my wife’s ashes are ready
ready to be picked up ready to be brought home ready to remind me of all I have lost ready to humble me before my own mortality ready to make me weep at the sight of them ready to strip me down to my core ready to reveal the naked truth
our bodies return to earth’s body our finished flesh is accepted back into earth’s sacred folds we are never merely our own we are made of star dust and earth dust we live in eternity’s flow
There is no adequate consolation right now There is no this is going to get better There is no lessening of the sorrow I cannot see the path forward Only darkness, nothingness I see no future No home for me Not without my beloved Though I am told there is one
I am also told she lives now in my heart Or that she lives on in the memories we made Or that she will always be with me in spirit None of which is enough right now I want her Her body, her mind, her sprightly spirit Only her presence soothes me Only she gives a day meaning beyond itself
Being a partner with her in life meant everything She was my safe harbor in the storm She knew me better than anyone ever has She loved me fiercely in spite of my shortcomings She was protective of me and of our love She spoke so endearingly to me and about me In the absence of these, who am I
Most of all she made my heart sing Especially watching her love this life A life we were creating together And seeing her revel in genuine friendships And laughing with such ease And appreciating the small gifts hidden within each day And hearing her tender words to me And tasting her sweet lips And feeling her body next to mine There is no consolation for losing these things There is no adequate measure to the loss I feel
In the meantime, I will get up in the mornings as best I can I will look for life wherever I can find it If only for you, sweetheart I will remember our devotion to one another I will not lose sight of how deeply you loved me I will grieve, and then grieve some more It is the only thing to do It is the only thing You, Dally, make my heart sing Though for now the song is awash in tears
