The Fog of Grief — Writing My Husband’s Eulogy
It is June 2015. There are people in my house. Who is here? I tell myself that I’m okay because my sister, Arlene, flew in from Chicago, and my son, Joel, flew in from California. They are staying with me. They are watching over me. What are they saying? I don’t know.
I’m tired. I need to lie down. Why am I so tired? I recall my Hospice counselor telling me that grief is exhausting; that it affects your whole being- mentally, physically, and emotionally; that I need to rest and sleep as much as my body wants. It is the body’s way of healing. Arlene keeps telling me to rest. I don’t think any amount of rest is going to heal my broken heart. I do what I am told and lie down. In the bed Sid and I shared for a lifetime. It’s empty. It’s cold. I’m restless.
This is not real. Sid can’t be dead. He can’t be. Not after 45 years of being the piece of my heart that completed it. Not after 45 years of love, devotion, contentment, and joy. Not after 45 years. But wasn’t I by his side when he took his last breath? Wasn’t it I who pressed the button for the nurse? Didn’t I see her place the stethoscope on his chest and sadly nod? But the only thought running through my head is that he can’t be dead. Gone from this earth forever, but never from my heart.
I lie down and try to sleep. No, I can’t sleep. I have to write his eulogy. I’m good at that. I am the family eulogy writer. But it has to be just right for Sid. Special. It has to be as special as he was. It’s all I can do for him now. He deserves the best I can give him.
I get up. Joel and Arlene are talking. I am looking at them, but I don’t see them. I listen to their words, but I am not hearing them; words come out of my mouth, but I am not talking.
Everything is foggy. I am in a fog. I cannot see through it; I cannot hear through it; I cannot be heard through it. I am walking around in circles. Why did I get up? Oh, the eulogy. I have to write the eulogy. I can’t do this. A voice in my head says, “You’re a smart cookie. You can do this.” It is Sid’s voice, encouraging me, as he always did in life. He always called me a “smart cookie”. He thought I could do anything. How blessed I was to have someone in my life who loved me, encouraged me, stood by my side, defended me. With him guiding me, I always felt that I could accomplish anything.
I sit down at the computer and I type. The fog clears for a moment, and I hear Arlene say to Joel, “I can hear those keys going a mile a minute. She’s on a roll. She’ll do it.”
As I begin typing, the tears come. They wash away the fog and the words start to flow. They seem to have a mind of their own. When I finish and read what I have written, I realize that it is a testimonial to our love and the type of man capable of giving such love; a love so strong that it would survive death.
My task complete, I stand up and let the fog envelop me again. There is comfort in the fog. It cushions me from reality for a while.
©2022 Joan Gershman
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