Words won’t work. Words are limiting, not expansive. Who says there is a: good, better, best. Words are allowed to shape our intellect; they are how we know the world; they are the mechanism for how we think. But, they hold us in.

Birds, ants, dogs, chickens, trees…all experience this world in ways other than words; they live in a reality, too, their reality.  Why this exhortation Chapter 1on words? Because they limit what I feel about Sharon, but they are the only things I have, so forgive me. I will do the best I can.

Perhaps I can start with the best words I know.  Let’s try Paradise Lost by John Milton:With thee conversing I forget all time,

With thee conversing I forget all time,

All seasons and their change, all please alike.

Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet,

With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the Sun

When first on this delightful land he spreads

His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,

Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile Earth

After soft showers; and sweet the coming on

Of graceful Evening mild, then silent Night

With this her solemn bird and this fair Moon,

And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train:

But neither breath of Morn when she ascends

With charm of earliest birds, nor rising Sun

On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower,

Glistering with dew, nor fragrance after showers,

Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night,

With this her solemn bird nor walk by moon,

Or glistering star light, without thee is sweet.

That’s not a bad start. But even Milton can’t capture the emptiness, that void in my soul, if I even have a soul anymore. Which always brings me to the fundamental question: Why live anymore? What does it mean to go on without a soul that is fractured? Why do it?

I have lived a good life: I have wonderful children who live all over the world, I have a great home. I have close friends. I do not suffer from racism, poverty, or hate, though I may indeed be the object of others who do not have the advantages I do. Enough said.

I have lost Sharon. She was not just the love of my life, she was a part of me, and I was a part of her. It is like we merged, partly when we first met, bur more so as the years went on. We became one.

Now, this is true for many who have lost their soul mate; I have listened. I have gone to bereavement groups, I have heard their stories, I have heard: “one day at a time,” “one step at a time,” “it will get better,” “just give it time,” “I know it will be better.” I am a good listener. But, the place they are in is not the place I am in. I am not worried about the “process,” not worried about “getting better,” not worried about “people who are trying to help” and how to deal with them. Honestly, I am not really worried about anything. Not worried at all.

The question is: Do I want to go on living, and if not, how do I die, and if I do, what do I do and with whom, if anyone? I don’t know that I can go on alone; don’t think I can.