Still Working on Goodbye

I don't want to write about Bob again today. Goodbyes are hard, and I'm already tired of waking in the night to know he is gone. But thoughts of him are so close to the surface, I have little room in my head for other reflections.

It was such a long and slow goodbye, I had lulled myself into a sense of serenity. I thought surely, with all the times I'd said goodbye to him along the way, I would feel only relief when he was set free and the final goodbye was complete.

Uh huh. As he used to say, "Denial is not just a river in Egypt." I learn this time and time again.

The last year or so of our friendship before his official diagnosis of dementia, we were not close. I knew he was falling into dementia, but he was covering well enough that the world didn't realize what was going on and I wondered myself if I was imagining things. He was angry, his excessive drinking made things worse, and I could no longer trust him to stay in my house, as he often had for years - I was sure, in his inebriated state, he was going to take a tumble down my long, narrow, flight of steps and hurt himself. On my side, I was in the midst of my COVID-induced isolation weirdness, and wasn't thinking entirely straight. (Five months of almost total isolation was NOT good for my mental health.)

I am SO glad he didn't die when our relationship was in that bitter and estranged state. 

This week, as I've looked back across these past few years, I've realized the silver lining of his dementia imprisonment was the removal of alcohol from his brain. Along with the excellent cocktail of drugs he was taking to keep his dementia-induced agitation under control, the loss of his daily dose of systemic depressant made it possible for our friendship to come back to life.

We could no longer share the easy give and take of old; those long evenings spent cooking dinner while talking about our respective days, then watching movies or just quietly reading books. He was no longer connected to that version of life. 

But we could hold hands and walk together. He hadn't been there long before he no longer remembered he was angry with me, so I got to see the return of the man who relaxed and laughed when I came around. I got to see the return of the man who became my best friend so long ago, even as I watched him leave me.

Ouch.

Out walking this morning, I saw the first crocuses in bloom; spring has come early this year.

I felt as if Someone was reminding me I will not stay sad/angry/hurt/relieved/lonely forever.

This, too, shall pass.

Time will work its magic and ease my pain, as it has done so many times before.

He is free, and so am I.