I Will Carry It With Me

(with the help of friends)

There is an author that I adore on this platform, who responds to all replies to her posts, every one with heartfelt gratitude and appreciation. Her writing (and I imagine she too) is remarkable. One phrase she uses: “I will carry your words with me.” More than a thank you, or appreciation, she promises to bring the person’s words with her. The first time I read her words, tears welled in my eyes. That is all I want, to be carried; I have been carrying so much.

I have been carrying Liz, the cancer, and the end for the past nine months. Most of me wants to hold tight the positive memories of her, but for each funny memory, or even just a pleasant thought, something about the cancer, the treatment, or the pain sneaks in. Images that are unwanted and unwelcome find their way into moments and the weight of fourteen months between diagnosis and the end feels so heavy. I try to consciously block these thoughts, which can work for a bit, but like ants they find every little crack in my psyche and carry away my peaceful moments with their unnatural strength.

I carry her in our house, memories in the art on the walls, the ceramic Trees of Life she collected, art that she loved, left out as multiple ofrendas to her. I carry her presence, her scent. I enter a room and smell her, the vanilla-almond perfume unexplained wafts into a room, then dissipates as suddenly as it appears.

I carry the weight of our marriage, our love, in a literal sense, our two wedding rings around my neck. Her ring fits perfectly inside mine, as though they were made to be a pair —even if we were imperfect at times. I wore the necklace outside of my shirt for months, but now wear inside, closer to my heart, while more private, without the questions of strangers regarding my “rosary.”

I have been trying to carry the weight of others, but I am weary with the strain. I try to bear the pain of her mother, her friends. I carry their grief for her, because she loved and was loved, an unspoken section of our vows. I make it a point to speak with her mother, to visit when I am in town, bringing something to reconnect them. I listen when her mother says that she “cannot continue on”, and only “wants to be with her,” tears on her cheeks. With empathy in my eyes, I say that is not what she would want, although I understand the emotion. I promise to continue to visit and am only a “call away”, genuinely trying to be truthful in my words or a hug before I depart. But to be honest, the weight of her mother’s grief is increasingly hard to carry and I do not call or communicate as often as I should.

I answer the texts of her friends, the occasional telephone calls, the hollow promises to visit. I agree when her friends pledge to “help me” go through her things, her clothes, her shoes, her purses, with the hope that these things will go to someone who will value and cherish, that objects can somehow reconnect, that she is somehow still inside of a pocket, hidden in a wallet, waiting to embrace, but the friends never arrive and the closet remains closed, a designer mausoleum; her jewelry box closed, quiet, the dancing ballerina still, music does not play.

I have also been thinking of past grief that I never fully let go. When the first girl I ever fell in love with was diagnosed with breast cancer, I was not there. When her body failed because of the strain of the surgery, or the medication prescribed to ease her pain, I was not there. I learned of her death from a classmate, when my calls were unanswered and emails went unresponded. Without a concrete explanation I contacted each person in her class that posted on social media: “I am so very sorry,” one said in a return email, “but she died last October.” I carry the regret of not being a better friend, for not being there.

But, or as my favorite author would say:

Sometimes I find support with carrying of my grief in the words of writers on this platform. I read the words of Jenny, an incurable soul with a supposedly incurable disease –I refuse to believe that she will not beat this, and I carry hope. I read another brave soul, Harriet, who is unafraid to shave her head and actively fight through the pain and exhaustion of chemotherapy, and I carry strength. Hannah’s insight into cancer provides a lift that is necessary each day. The honesty, f*ck-it-if-you-don’t-like-it attitude of Rebecca shows me that I can find a way through lugging my grief in this life. I find the burden of my grief lightened by the strength of amazingly strong souls (and mothers), working through the grief of suicides of partners in the writings of Isabelle and Laura The soft and gentle words of Joyce provide a brief respite to the gnawing voices in my head. The poetry of Rea and John is remarkable in making one feel seen, your emotions validated and you realize you are not alone. Cyn provides beautiful support in carrying addiction and alcoholism, which is remarkable because she carries and fights her own daily demons.

Otherwise, or without all of you, I would be unable to make it through a day, I would drop all that I continue to hold onto, shattering what little peace I have found in recent months.

Now that I think about it more, it is really because of all of you (and so many more authors who make me laugh, angry, or even my heart ache) that I am able to continue carrying on. I cannot say enough how important your writing is, and how much I look forward to reading your future pieces. TY

(and special ty to Kim for helping me find beauty in life, olives, and fig biscuits, and wanting to write more often).

(and, and, ty to my neighbors for leaving the beautiful statute on my back porch, without note or explanation, allowing me to interpret their kind action to serve as a reminder of my loss and partially inspiring this post),

(and, and, and, this is for Liz, just because it made me think of her:

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

By E. E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Copyright 1952, © 1980, 1991 by the Trustees for the E. E. Cummings Trust, from Complete Poems: 1904-1962 by E. E. Cummings, edited by George J