Talking… or Not Talking

One of Peter’s and my favourite movies is the Christopher Guest ensemble piece “Best in Show.” (I highly recommend watching it if you’re in need of some ‘laughter therapy!’) We especially loved the May/December couple played by Jennifer Coolidge as the much younger sexy, blonde wife of her octogenarian husband played by Patrick Cranshaw. Her character says this about their relationship; “It’s so physical… and we have SO much in common… We both love talking – or not talking. We could not talk or talk forever – and still find things to not talk about.”

Peter used to say that was us in a nutshell – him “not talking” and me “talking” forever. He wasn’t wrong. When we were together, he certainly ‘dominated the listening,’ although every now and again, he’d come up with an absolute gem worth hearing. But my surprisingly introverted, shy husband spent all day inundated with people, meetings, communications, and interruptions. At the end of the day, he was done. On the other hand, this outgoing extravert spent my days alone in my head, reading, researching, thinking and writing, absorbed in the ‘life of the mind.’ By the time Peter came home, I was pretty much ready to talk and he was ready to not talk – and still find things to not talk about! We found our way back to each other with a shared meal, some affectionate quietude or being physically close to one another as our different days and unique needs met half way.    

The oddest feature of this part of our relationship is that it changed very little with his death! I still had a huge need to talk to Peter and although he said, well, even less than he used to, I still found his ‘companionable silence’ familiar and oddly comforting. As a widower who had previously been married for years, Peter said to me early in our courtship “When you’ve been married a long time, not only do you know what they would say, you know what they’re thinking.” I was astonished to discover after he died that it was absolutely true. 

I kept talking to Peter after he died, sometimes out loud and other times in the quiet stillness of my heart. I was amazed to realize that I could easily imagine what he would say in almost every instance. Not only did I know what he would say, I knew what he’d be thinking.  It brought me such comfort to realize he was not, in fact, as far away as I thought. He was in my head, my heart, my memory and my life, as close as breath. I had only to summon him.

SO many people report that they still talk to someone they love after they have died. Sometimes there is so much to say; words left unsaid or goodbyes we didn’t get to have. There are big decisions to talk over or the simple minutia of the day to which our beloved always bore witness. There is a yearning to reach across the veil, to give voice to the heart’s outpouring of love and longing. Because the simple truth is, death does not end your relationship with someone. After so many years of officiating weddings, I had asked hundreds of couples to promise to love one another “as long as you both shall live” and yet now I felt I understood those words for the first time. You don’t love someone as long as they live. You love them as long as you live, so it really is “as long as you both shall live.” 

If it helps you in your grief, keep on talking, or not talking forever. Your need to do this may change over time and that’s OK, too. I used to wait until bedtime to have my little ‘out loud’ conversation with Peter. At first I did it every night, but I also found the sound of my own voice often left me in tears. Over time, I decided that wasn’t good for me right before bed, so I switched to writing a journal or diary that really is an ongoing love letter to him. When I read back a year or so ago, I can see the cyclical nature of grief and remembrance and I can also see that love and loss is more like a spiral; you come back around but you are not in quite the same place as you were. Reading back to past ‘conversations’ with Peter, I can see the health, strength and yes, even joy seeping back into my life over time. 

I still talk to him, sometimes out loud. It can range from the profound (the children are facing something really difficult and I think of how he would support me, what he would say, the spirit he would bring to bear on their struggle) to the mundane details of life (I can hear him telling me to make sure the smoke and carbon monoxide detectors are up to date!) I lived with him and loved him long enough that he’s taken up permanent residence in my heart. So I’m going to keep on talking.  A colleague Donald. F Robinson put it this way:  

“They say you have left me, but it is not true.
My eyes are liars and my reaching hands 
Are become traitors when they reach for you. 
Only the heart within me understands.
It’s true the body you built so long ago
Your voice is still, your steps no longer go
About their business, quiet across the floor.
But you and I have lived so long together
We have no further need of sound and sight
And outward touch to recognize each other.
You have lived long within me, like a light.
Still like a light you’re there to lead me on
When those who understand not say you’re gone.”

Donald. F Robinson