I feel a bit broken today.
I had a dream the other night that dad was alive. Not that we’d never lost him, but that he’d just pretended to die and then came back. Even at the time I knew it was nonsense: ‘...but I saw you! I saw you dead!’. I was so angry with him, and so relieved to be held by him.
It was strange and unsettling.
I think the fact that his partner has forgotten him already, combined with gearing up to close out his storage unit tomorrow - which feels onerous and overwhelming - has carved a bit of a groove through my resilience this week and I feel raw and lost. As I said, just a bit broken.
I was listening to Gretchen Rubin’s short podcast earlier this week and she told the tale of a man who was struggling after losing his wife. The author she was referencing (a therapist, Viktor Frankl) was working with him and asked what would have happened if the roles were reversed. What if he’d died first and left his wife. The man said his wife would have been devastated, to which the therapist replied ‘you have spared her that. You have taken that pain for her’.
While I hate that Dad's partner has forgotten him, and I hate that in many ways we’ve lost them both, I am - I suppose - glad that Dad was spared that pain. And that he was spared having to cope with her decline.
It would have utterly broken his heart.