Thank U

How ‘bout me not blaming you for everything? How ‘bout me enjoying the moment for once? How ‘bout how good it feels to finally forgive you? How ‘bout grieving it all one at a time?

You know how parents can’t shut up about their kids? Whether their spawn just won some arbitrary award at school for turning in their homework, which they’re supposed to be required to do; or they played what seems like their 500th soccer game and got another trophy for participating. Maybe they lost a tooth, which (sorry to burst your bubble) is not an achievement, but rather a natural occurrence. Dancing, I’ve noticed, seems to be a favorite activity that parents record their children doing and then post on social media, as if the child has any rhythm. (They don’t.)

Y’all know what I’m talking about.

For the record, I understand this sickness because I do it with my two nieces. They’re so talented - possibly the best walkers in the history of toddlers. I mean, you should see how their legs move. Expert walkers, now delving into running. Further, they’re both practically geniuses; they each babble at an above-average level, and I am qualified to make that assessment, given my educational background in language acquisition. I’m also pretty sure they’re the most adorable children that ever lived. I base this solely on the way they make my heart melt when I look at them, but I digress.

We all do this, whether it be about our children, fur babies, significant others or students. Humans love to brag about their people, and widows are not exempt from this phenomenon. (You know, because we’re human, too.) The problem, though, is not just that the person we want to talk incessantly about is dead. Not that that’s not reason enough, as evidenced by our superb ability to clear a room at just the mention of our person’s name. (This is your issue, not ours.) Trust me when I say that we know it can be awkward at times when we mention the dead guy again. You try being out with your girlfriends as they talk about the men they’re seeing, and all you have to contribute is the one-sided argument you recently had with your hubby about something he did or didn’t do before biting the dust.

Who needs an elephant in the room when you’ve got a ghost following you around? (ba-dum-tsss!)

We bite our tongues when bringing them up hurts and because we don’t always want to be talking about them. But we want to be part of the conversation, too. Also, sometimes the insanity just comes flying out of our mouths before we can stop it. We forget they’re dead and talk about them as if they’re still here. Then we might crack morbid jokes that are sure to kill the mood, and we’d probably follow them up with more jokes about how whatever ‘killed’ our spouses is now ‘killing’ the mood, and how funny that is. We’re really great company, I swear.

At any rate, it isn’t the departed status of our spouses that calls into question our intrinsic urge to brag about them. The real issue is that we eventually run out of material. I mean, it is REALLY hard to come up with new stories about someone who is no longer alive and able to create any, but that doesn’t erase the desire to talk about them to others. Mark is my favorite subject, but the last chapter in the book of his life was written years ago. I only get so many pictures, memories and stories to show and tell.

Furthermore, given he died by suicide, a high portion of the new things I’ve learned about Mark since his death haven’t been all that great. It’s usually something he tried to hide from me, and there are rarely any revelations. For a while, I was happy to have zero news about Mark because it meant I didn’t have to confront anything that might further upset me. Even so, handling less-than-flatting details about him has definitely gotten easier over time. It’s nearly four years since he died, and at this point, I’m pleased to be left primarily with fond memories of Mark. Anger bubbles up to the surface far less often than it used to, which isn’t much to write home about considering that it used to be constant. But it also subsides quicker than it did when the wounds were fresh. They open just as deep now, but only briefly before they close back up.

All of the above was the case for me last Friday night when I discovered a new piece of information about the note Mark left before killing himself. It wasn’t so much a note as a sentence, so the fact that I could not only discern, but actually DISCOVER, via a Google search, something new about a single sentence nearly four years after it was written, is kind of a big deal. It’s also weird. It’s kind of like finding a missing puzzle piece hidden in the couch, except the puzzle got thrown away years ago, so that puzzle piece is now of zero assistance whatsoever. But it was still kind of fun finding it, so you want to call the person with whom you were doing that puzzle years ago and say, “Hey, remember that time we looked FOREVER for that missing puzzle piece? Well, I just found it!” And then you debate whether you should throw it away because it’s useless or keep it out of sentimental value.

That’s how it feels.

I cannot discard this puzzle piece, as it lives in my brain as a thought and memory. I won’t be displaying it for others to view or ogle at. Only a few people know its content, including my therapist, who thanked me for sharing it with her. Mark left only one sentence, so I only want to share it with a few people. But given my very human impulse to brag about my favorite guy to others, coupled with how very unlikely it is that I'll ever have anything new to share about him, I will say this: Despite invoking sadness and a whole new set of questions, I learned something this week about Mark that reminded me how much he loved being a United States Marine, and I’m very proud of him.

PSA: Don’t ever ask anybody if their loved one left a note, what it said, or the reasons they gave for killing themself. Never. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. It’s none of your business, and they’ll tell you only if they want to.