The Longest Day of the Year

Today was DST (daylight savings time), the longest day of the year, when we get back the hour that was stolen from us in the spring. It seems like you get an extra hour, but for me, I used most of that hour to first figure out how, and then, set all the clocks back– a task that had exclusively, always been Mark’s. They make it seem like you should be happy that you get an extra hour of sleep; however, I walk around in a daze on this day and I’m totally confused when it gets dark earlier than usual. Anyway, I always felt that DST was a nuisance rather than an advantage.  

This DST I decided to use to my advantage. So, I stayed inside for the entire day. I decided to hibernate; the only human contact I had was either through phone calls, texts, emails, or facebook, and I tried to keep them short. I hardly watched TV. Instead, I read the letters I had written to Mark in a journal that I began 5 months after he died. It was the only thing I could write at the time because I needed some way to communicate with him.  

Here is an excerpt; my first entry, 

1/7/24

Dear Mark, 

It has been 21 Sundays since the saddest day of my life, August 13th, 2023, when your soul

left this physical world.  I am so lost without you.  

I am laying in our bed now, writing this to you because I miss talking to you so much. 

We all miss you so much.  I hope you know that.  I believe you do. 

I feel you sometimes; I cannot really describe it but it’s as if you are hugging me.  

You are in my dreams~ I love that, too.  

For the most part, I am perpetually sad.  

All those business trips alone for years and years did not prepare me for this infinite loneliness. 

I just can’t figure out how to live without you.  I wish you could come back and show me. I’m trying, though.  I make our bed every morning and remember how we used to make it together. 

I even strip the bed every week to put on fresh linens. 

I threw away the throw pillow that said, “Life is good,” because it’s not, anymore.  

I bought new bedding.  I needed a change.  I think you would like it. 

I also replaced the couch with a leather sectional that has a chaise.  It fits perfectly. 

I gave our end tables to Kim and Dave and bought a gold glass round one

with a mirrored top shelf to replace it.  

Apparently, I fill the void I feel with redecorating.  

Friday night I went to bed and couldn’t fall asleep because I missed you there. 

I could not stop crying and wondering if you still love me as much as you always did. 

I miss that the most. 

I wished for you to give me a sign and the next day, when I went for brunch,

my latte had a perfect heart in the foam with a “j” on the bottom.  I believe that was from you. 

Here is the picture I took of it: 

Good night, my love. 

I hope you are in my dreams. 

♥️xoxo

Writing in this journal was my first step towards dealing with my grief. It was cathartic getting my feelings out, as if my tears flowed through my veins, down to my hand and onto the page. I never intended to make it public, but maybe someday someone who is grieving might read this and start a journal of letters of their own that will help them in some way. 

Today, when I read through my entire journal, beginning with the first letter in January of this year and ending with the last letter in May, I can see how I have moved forward on this difficult journey. I recall the woman I was when Mark passed, shattered in a million pieces, feeling hopeless that those pieces will ever come together to who I was before.  I realize now that I can never be who I was before but I can still be me, just a different version.  

When Mark was first diagnosed with his illness, I was in complete denial. I refused to believe he was going to die. I even yelled at him, “You are not going to die!”  This is really when my grief journey began, because my life as I knew it, had ended. We were in the midst of planning a wedding for Kim. We were ecstatic about that. This news was a tsunami sized shock.  Mark went into a deep depression for three days and stayed in bed, not talking to me. It was brutal. The third day, I had gone out and when I returned, I saw that he had gotten out of bed and was sitting on the couch. He looked at me, tears streaming down his face and said, “I am okay with this.  I only want one thing and that is to walk my daughter down the aisle.” 

From that point on, we experienced the yin and yang of life. I was working on the wedding and Mark was working on getting accepted to Duke Medical for his only hope– a lung transplant. One day could be filled with joy while the next could be filled with angst. I felt like I couldn’t completely enjoy one of the happiest days of my life. Although, Mark had achieved his goal of walking Kim down the aisle, dancing the father/daughter dance and reading his speech. And by the day of the wedding, he had already been accepted into the first steps of the transplant program.  

I wish there would have been a happy ending to all of this. I wish I would be writing about Mark’s successful lung transplant, a blog about hope, and not one about grief. Unfortunately, even though Mark accomplished all he worked so incredibly hard for, it was ultimately the lung transplant that took his life instead of saving him. His battle ended with a barrage of machines, tubes and never ending beeping sounds that I could still hear to this day. We were all there, though–my girls, my sons in law, my grandchildren and me. He was surrounded by love. It was devastating and beautiful at the same time. 

My journey has taught me to look at life like that now.  Each day can be devastating and beautiful simultaneously. I can wake up and want to go right back to sleep because I am alone, and I can choose to find joy in the things that Mark and I both loved.  

And now that this longest day of the year has come to a close and the extra hour actually worked in my favor today because it will be published today instead of tomorrow. I can shut my computer down and go to sleep.  Hopefully Mark will be in my dreams.