Keep breathing

"This is my one and only life. And it's a great and terrible and short and endless thing, and none of us come out of it alive."

~P.S. I Love You

I've always enjoyed the movie P.S. I Love You. I've quoted it a few times in this blog, actually. 

And yes, I know it's a chick flick. I like them too, just as much as I like action movies, stupid movies, mystery movies. I'm allowed to. Sue me.

But I can say, it hits differently now.

Potential spoilers here. Don't hate me, I warned you.

For those unfamiliar, it revolves around Holly, played by Hilary Swank. We see her first with her husband Gerry, played by Gerard Butler, having a basic married people argument. It's a glimpse into their life in the first scene. Then, we see her and their friends at his wake. 

Gerry is Irish and an interesting guy, so it's an interesting wake. 

But, without giving too much away, the rest of movie involves her learning to live without him. He's prepared surprises for her, as part of her journey of growth. It involves Ireland, too, because that's part of their story.

One thing that I never understood was why it never really talked much about what happened to the husband. We know he died, obviously, but there's only a short mention that it was a brain tumor.

We can guess it wasn't totally sudden, that he had time to prepare. He took time to prepare a whole year of things for her. 

But it still seems to have taken her by surprise, like she didn't really have time to prepare. Or maybe, even when you know, you still can't be ready. I guess you can never be ready for grief.

Anyway, that part always left me curious. Why doesn't it talk more about it?

I think part of that comes from the fact that I like to know why things happen. Jim always said it was because I was a reporter and a woman. Therefore, I was doubly nosy. I would usually respond with an eyeroll and give him a look.

The truth is, I've always been curious about how things work. You can blame my dad for that. He's the one I get my tinkering nature from. We are the people that want to know why and how something works. And sometimes we take it apart to figure it out. Or inspect to make our own. 

For me that tends to go further into why and how people work and why and how things happen. It's part of why I love the field of communications; I get to delve into that how people work by looking at how they communicate.

Of course, when someone dies, especially unexpectedly, everyone wants to know why. Everyone wants to know what could have been done to fix it or prevent it. And while those are sometimes relevant questions (asking questions have saved a lot of lives and cured a lot of people over the years), the truth is why and how don't always matter when it comes to death.

At least not for the grieving. Because why and how don't change what happened. They can't undo what's happened, they can't bring back what's lost, and they can't fix anything.

Anyway, I've finally realized, the point of P.S. I Love You isn't how he died. The point is how he lived.

And that's a big takeaway for life in general.

When you lose somebody -- while, yes, how they died does matter -- finding those answers or understanding that doesn't really change the facts. 

Facts like: they died, you can't undo it, and it really sucks.

The thing that is most important, however, isn't any of that. What really matters is how someone lived. 

Which brings me back to P.S. I Love You, a movie I think never really understood until now.

 

The most important thing is that memory of how they lived together. That's why that's what we see. We don't see the months leading to his death. We see the years they lived together. We see how their story began.

We see the moments he began to fall in love.

"My life had changed right there." 

~ Gerry, P.S. I Love You

We see how they grew, blossomed.

We see how she continues to grow. To find herself again. To find her way out of the fog.

Another spoiler alert: She doesn't find love. At least not that kind. But she finds herself. That's all he really wanted for her. That's what she really needed.

But it's an ugly process to get there. There's a scene where she's literally holed up in her apartment refusing to move or leave or do anything. 

Holly Kennedy: Do you think it'd be all right if I stop my life right here? Become good Miss Haversham of the Lower East Side? Never leave my apartment till I'm old. Sit in my wedding dress...

Sharon McCarthy: Which you never had.

Holly Kennedy: With an old piece of wedding cake?

Sharon McCarthy: Which you never had. Gotta be rich to be insane, Hol. Losing your mind is not a luxury for the middle class.

And I completely understand her feeling in that. I completely understand wanting to do that. 

I'm definitely in the ugly part. The fog is pretty thick right now. 

This week has been a rather difficult one for me mentally. 

It was one of our anniversary weeks, the week we first met and went on our park date. If you've read my previous posts, you probably read about that in The Story of Us. 

Then some other reminders have happened. Things I don't need to expand on. But it's been a tough week, honestly. 

But, honestly, I expect to have rough weeks. Rough days. Rough moments. It's all part of it. Learning to live.

Sometimes I think people expect me to be having a rougher time to an extent. They expect you to fall apart at anything. The fact that I haven't, some act like I'm an anomaly. I've had so many people say things like "You're so strong," and "How are you doing this?"

And I don't really have a good answer for them. I've spoken to other friends who are also widows. They've expressed the same to me. They know people expect them to be in shambles.

Maybe on the inside we are. But we don't get the luxury of living that way.

The truth is, the truth for all of us in this unfortunate sisterhood is, none of us feel strong. Like everyone else, I just keep going.

Some days, it's easier than others. It's easier to laugh and smile and enjoy the sunshine.

Some days, it takes every ounce of effort I have -- more effort than I have, honestly.  Some days, it's literally moment by moment. Some days I have to remember to breathe. I have to tell my heart to beat and my lungs to fill.

On those frequent days, it's only by the grace of God.

There's not really an alternative, though. It's not like I can stop or not keep going. I just do my best to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It's not like any of us can.

Because life keeps going. The world keeps spinning. Responsibilities continue. Dogs need fed -- ha!

I'm reminded of a remark Jim would make, when asked how things were going. If he'd say he was doing OK, he'd always say something like, "not like there's an alternative."  

Sometimes he'd say, "Doing better than I deserve."

One thing I know for certainty: he was better than I deserved.