The Muse and Views

Back in May, David wrote in this space that our next blog would focus on loss. Today marks six months since David’s wife, Joyce, passed away. Wendy is very familiar with the subject matter. In 2004, she lost four close family members in the span of nine months, including her older brother, Wayne.

We decided to devote this space in the coming weeks to sharing our feelings about loss through letters to our departed loved ones. We’ve invited other friends who want to remember special people to do so in this manner.

Readers are welcome to add their comments to these blogs if they have feelings that resonate with our words.

David begins …

Dearest Joyce,

They say that time flies when you’re having fun. The last half year has, indeed, flown by. It’s also been the worst time of my life. The only relevant word beginning with fu that comes to mind is one commonly associated with an upraised middle finger to cancer.

It still hasn’t sunk in fully. Some days feel somewhat normal as I pretend you’re just away getting more treatment in Edmonton and will return any days. Others are numbing and I feel nearly paralyzed navigating life on my own.

Your condition deteriorated so fast on that saddest of days in March that I didn’t get a chance to say everything that I’d like to have fit in.

I was fortunate to affirm often in your last few months how much I love you. You knew that I always considered you my best friend and the woman I was happy to call my wife for more than 35 years. You were my only true love ever.

Others are not so fortunate. They lose their wife, husband, mother, father, son, daughter, brother, sister or someone else they’re very attached to suddenly and there’s no chance to share feelings like I was able to.

So this isn’t like the verse in Joni Mitchell’s song Big Yellow Taxi … I did know what I had before it was gone (you had to know I’d draw in a music reference when I write to you).

Instead, there was more that I could and should have said.

You did know how proud I was that you’d become an accomplished potter and instructor. I told you early on when you took up the craft that you’d be able to sell your work. Sure enough, you went well beyond that. I was so delighted to promote your sales.

I was not only honoured to have you as a spouse but you were clearly the go-to for Peter as he grew into manhood. I always deferred to you in parenting matters. You were the heartbeat of our family.

There were other times, however, you perhaps didn’t know how much I appreciated you – that you were always there for me, my protector when I needed it the most. You let me be me and I did the same with you. But it wasn’t always like me to let you know what was troubling me.

It would’ve been easier for me to just tell you. You knew when something was wrong. I have to admit I would clumsily try to work through problems, not wanting to bother you.

This is yet another reminder to tell love ones what you feel about them, to leave nothing important unsaid. It often becomes too late.

During the last year, you apologized repeatedly for the impact your disease was having in our home. I only wish I could have shared your pain as you bravely carried on as a once hopeful prognosis turned into notice that your time would be cut short.

That you continued to work until your final days remains inspiring but you were determined not to be defined by your diagnosis.

Though I was surprised by nothing that was said about you at your Celebration of Life, it was heartening to hear tributes from the many lives you touched, whether family, friends, colleagues, clients, or peers in the arts community.

Facebook memories over the last few months have provided both plenty of triggers and moments to reminisce – wedding anniversaries, our birthdays and other annual celebrations, summer vacations, and photos of locations we’d considered as possibilities for our next home.

You’ll be happy to know that I’ve figured out our online banking and bill payments, things you flourished in managing. The next road trip will be difficult without you and your adeptness for navigating and holiday planning. Your adeptness with technology is greatly missed.

It’s bittersweet that I’m carrying forward with our relocation plans.

A favourite photo of you is prominently displayed on our upstairs entertainment unit. I gaze at it often. As I contemplate life and what to do next, I frame my thoughts in terms of WWJD … What Would Joyce Do. I welcome any guidance you can provide from the heavens.

I miss you and will always love you. You will forever be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Love, David