Post Script #2: Missing Me

When it was my turn to talk at the Hospice Grief session (to answer the question that I had picked out of the hat) I said that one of the things I missed most about my love one was "me". Of course, despite my barely suppressed tears, there was a certain self-conscious cleverness in my answer - leading me to say to my self, "That's pretty good - you are a blowhard- yeah well it is still true - I wish you would shut the fu*k up."

Yet..

Yet...

What I meant was that when Brenda died, a substantial portion of me died with her. If she was indeed my better half then I am now half a person. But it is not just that. As a female friend noted we tend to be defined by those we are with - by those we love. We are one person with this person, somebody else with that person. As the friend noted, this is probably not a good thing. We should be who we are, regardless of who we are with. What it means for me is that I am now without definition.

And there is still more to it.

Whatever I was, I was closer to it with Brenda than I ever was with anybody else. With her I was unselfconscious. For good or ill (and sometimes it was for ill) when I was with her I was simply myself. I did not have to think about myself. I could simply be - happy, sad, angry, anxious - even a silly fool. I was natural.

That's what I meant when I said that I missed me. I am no longer me - but a contrivance struggling to become me, forever looking back at himself looking back at himself looking back at himself. It is possible that when I peel back all the layers of this particular onion all I will discover is emptiness and a bad smell. It is also possible that a better me will result - or if not a better me, then at least somebody I can live with.