Dear Sarah,
You know when you have a dream that you cheated on your person, and you wake up feeling so horrible and guilty, and maybe you’re even crying? I just had a moment like that, only I wasn’t dreaming, and it wasn’t about cheating on you. I just had a moment where I wondered what it would have been like to have never met you, or worse, if I had taken an out when you got your diagnosis and asked me if I wanted to leave, that you’d understand if I couldn’t go through this with you, and I felt sick. I started crying, because if I had walked away then, well, if I had walked away then, two things: first, what kind of man would I have been to leave you? but second — okay, wait a second.
See, there’s two ways of looking at this, Sarah, and I hope you understand that I’m just thinking out loud, here. If I had walked away, know that I never could have lived with that decision, and I’d be a wreck of a man. So, you know what, scratch this. I was going to try to say that I would not be feeling the pain I’m feeling right now, but you know what, fuck that. I was going to say that I wouldn’t have had to watch you die, but the fact is, it was my privilege to watch you fight, and my sacred honour to bear witness to your death. The pain and loss I’m feeling now I wear like badges of honour, and they are a testament to my love for you. There was only one way this was going to go, and it was you and me together, so the fantasy of some life where I never met you, or never loved you on the brightest days of your life, or never carried you through the darkest days of your life, why, that’s no fantasy at all. It’s a nightmare, it’s something impossibly obscene. Because I was meant for you, my love, and you were meant for me. I don’t believe in much, but I believed in you and me.
So I knew I had to write to you today, because even having that thought come to mind — what if I’d never met you? — made me feel sick. I’m so glad to have known and loved you. I have so many happy memories. Why my mind shits that stuff up sometimes, I’ll never understand.
The subconscious and survivor’s guilt and all that, yes, yes, I know.
Yes, survivor’s guilt. I have it. I have this romantic notion that we should have died together, old and in bed, even though I knew that was never going to happen. And so I, in my grief, should have taken my own life. We both go down together. So sometimes I feel like I’m living on stolen time — does that make any sense? Why is it fair that I’m still alive and you’re not?Why did I survive my 30 day cleanse? It’s enough to fuck with the head, even if you’re self-aware enough to recognize it for what it is, and try to dismiss it.
Is it truly paranoia if they really are out to get you?
It has a way of robbing me of my joy. Death is the gift that keeps on giving, apparently, because the grief doesn’t ease up. It’s like a virus — it mutates and gets more complex. No inoculating against this kind of grief, it changes from moment to moment, and just when I think I’ve got it figured out, I have a moment like today where I’m doubting myself, engaging in pointless “whatifs”, and downplaying all the positives. Again.
Sometimes I think I’ll never be happy again. Dammnit Sarah, why did you have to go?
I wonder what you’d be like now, if you were still here, and I am, if not glad, then relieved that you didn’t get any worse. I know you never wanted to waste away, and you didn’t, honey. If I told you the story of the last four days of your life, you wouldn’t believe it. You were fine on Monday and dead on Thursday. On Tuesday, you had an old friend you hadn’t seen since high school drop in on us, and you were fine. Your mum and dad came down to see you, and you didn’t know it, but you got to say goodbye to them. That was Wednesday.
But I don’t want to talk about the day you died.
It was a Thursday. I could never get the hang of Thursdays.
Sarah, I need to stop thinking of that day. The day you went to sleep and didn’t wake up again.
Instead, I’m going to think of you lip-synching along to Young Lover by St Vincent. You said when she hits that glory note, you got goosepimples every time. You were so crazy beautiful, and beautifully crazy. So passionate and silly and glamorous and goofy, such wonderful fun just to be around, and I will miss you forever, and that’s the truth.
The other truth is, because of your strength and good spirits, we didn’t have a lot of painful days together, you and I. My pain is mostly post-Sarah, just building a new life without you, just that sense of loss. What I’m saying is that I have a lot more good memories to draw on to carry me through, and I will just have to hope that it’s enough, my love.
I don’t know what to do about these letters, Sarah. I don’t know if I’m writing them to you anymore or if I’m just writing to hear myself talk. Not that you weren’t always a good sounding-board, I just don’t know if they’re serving the purpose they were meant to.
Or maybe it’s just today, pretending to talk to you feels empty, and a bit foolish.
I love you, wherever you are.
Your husband
Who is Jessica B. Bell? 