Report from Romania – Installment #1

I left for this trip almost a month ago, on May 28. One of the reasons I felt compelled to take it at this time was to explore my identity and figure out who I am now that Jay, my husband of 37 years, is gone. I needed to do this totally away from familiar persons and places I have known, so I ended up in Tanzania.  That was an immensely rewarding experience, and I learned a lot and made some new dear friends that I very much hope to stay in touch with.

After the first three weeks I was ready to rejoin a more familiar world and so met up with some family members in Ireland. Still a new place, but with people I know and love. The visit to Ireland was a bit of a whirlwind. We were only there four days, and spent much of it trying to cram as much sightseeing in as we could while we also recovered from various minor illnesses and spent time with family who live there. Wonderful segment of the trip but not all that relaxing when all was said and done. We did make it to the Jameson distillery, however, and I will be bringing home a nice bottle of 12 year old Irish whiskey. We also got to stay a night in a castle hotel, which was fun, and sampled several versions of seafood chowder. Oh, and the Guinness was excellent and the seacoast spectacular!

Now we are in Romania, beginning the last two weeks of the trip. I have never been to an Eastern European country before, and so far it is an interesting mix of former communist dictatorship and new world capitalism. We are headed to the family of my sister-in-law, where we will stay in her sister’s big house. We are expecting a quiet and relaxing first few days as we decompress from all the traveling and get to know Simona’s Romanian family. From there we will take some day trips and perhaps an overnight or two to see the sights. We are in Transylvania, home of Frankenstein and Dracula, so exploring should be great fun.

I have been thinking a lot about Jay while I’ve been traveling to all these new places. So far I have learned that my identity is still very much wrapped up in his. Grief is a funny thing. It creeps up on you without warning. When you least expect it (or want it), the person you lost is suddenly right there in front of you and the sorrow just washes over your day like a flash flood after a summer rain. The clouds come in, it pours for a few minutes, then the sun comes back out and you keep going. That’s how it’s been for me on this trip. Even though Jay had never been to Tanzania or anywhere in Africa, he was still with me the entire time I was there. In the evening as I looked through and sorted my photos taken that day I would often peruse some of my pictures of Jay – before he got sick and we were happy and carefree, and then after he got sick when he was so depressed and trying to cope with what was happening to him. Brain cancer is stealthy; it creeps up on you and slowly eats away at you and all that made you who you are. When I look at the photos of Jay before and after, the change is dramatic and obvious to me.

I made a conscious effort to keep Jay in my presence on this trip, but I didn’t really have to work very hard. I brought along our wedding rings and have kept them with me everywhere I go. His happy face greets me every time I open my computer. I think about how nice it would have been to share my experiences with him. While in Tanzania I wanted to ask him about the virus that made one of the people sick one week while I was there. I would have talked to him from Africa every few days and he would would have told me how much he missed me (always a recurrent theme). Whenever I was away overnight, whether for one day or several weeks, Jay always wanted to know when I would be coming home. When he was the one on a trip, he would always deny that he was having a good time and tell me that he was just counting the days or hours when we would be back together. I sometimes (ok, often…) found his yearning to be together all the time stifling and liked that we had lives that were somewhat independent, but he never really felt the same about it. I know that if I had taken this trip to Africa with him waiting for me at home, every time we talked he would be asking me to cut the trip short and come home, and I would laugh and say of course I’m not going to do that and tell him he should have come with me.  I really miss how that guy used to smother me with his love, and wish that I hadn’t been so quick to dismiss him.

The bottom line is that he should be here with me. Jay would have particularly loved the Ireland and Romania portions of the trip. A lifelong student of history, he knew quite a lot about the countries I’m visiting. I have no idea how he was able to remember everything, but he would have especially liked seeing some of the ancient ruins in Ireland, evidence of the Norman conquest and the ensuing battles to control the island.

He knew all the details of how and when the Vikings settled in the region, and would also have enjoyed our tour of King John’s Castle.

I have been talking about him with different people quite a bit during the trip. I try not to but Jay just seems to slip into my thoughts without my noticing and the next thing I know I’m mentioning something he did or lamenting his absence because he could have answered a question that no one else knew the answer to.

In Tanzania one day when I was introducing myself to one of the women’s groups, a woman asked if I had a husband. I hesitated for a few seconds trying to decide what to say, then told her no, that I was a widow. It was the first time I said that word out loud in reference to myself and it felt really strange to say it. Several of the women I met over the three weeks in Africa were also widows and we shared a special bond that only widows understand.

I was fortunate that one of the younger volunteers I spent time with, Christopher, seemed to understand a little of what I was going through. When I would inevitably bring Jay into a conversation, he would ask follow up questions that invited me to expand a bit more than I would have otherwise. He didn’t ask me outright, but sensed that my loss was fresh and understood somehow that a grieving person needs to talk about the person they lost.  After I left Africa he sent a very sweet note acknowledging my loss directly and expressing his condolences.

In one of the churches we visited in Limerick, my brother Daniel and his wife Simona lit candles for her mother, our father, and Jay.

I had never done that before, and was extremely touched at their gesture and that they included Jay. The candle was a powerful symbol for me of both the loss and his living spirit and I was a little taken aback by my reaction (I’m not a particularly religious person but that lighted candle held me transfixed). I stood quite awhile looking at it, feeling the emotion of his loss and my love for him.

My nephew Gabriel, 15 years old, and he can’t wait to see and hang out with his Romanian cousins. During this trip he has been asking me lots of questions about Jay. What kind of job did he have, what were we doing in Germany, when did he write his stories, what kind of science did he do, what was his patent about, and on and on. Many of the questions I can’t answer precisely because I didn’t understand what he did well enough myself. Jay and I never spoke the same professional language (I don’t have the right brain for microbiology and genetics). But I appreciate Gabriel’s interest, and try my best to answer his questions, taking any opportunity to talk about Jay even though I don’t even know what I’m talking about (I’m sure Jay would be aghast at my attempts to explain anything he did with any degree of precision…).

As we enjoy Romania over the next days, Jay will continue to be with me. Before the trip I wasn’t sure how I would cope with his spiritual presence in the face of his physical absence. It turns out that everywhere I go, everything I do, everyone I talk to, something reminds me of him and I’m always saying things like, “if Jay were here, he would…” or “I remember when Jay…” or “Jay would know…”  Like the World Cup soccer tournament. Jay and I always rooted for Germany, and he always patiently explained the rules again and again to me every four years. This year I’m totally on my own…

It’s really sad and hard, and it doesn’t take much for me to tear up at the memories, or the pictures, or just the feeling of profound loss. I’m still in a state of disbelief, and can’t seem to shake it. How could this have happened?? How could he be gone?? Surely he’ll be waiting for me when I get home! But of course that isn’t the case, and I know it only too well. As I learn to live a life without Jay, I am learning what I think I already knew, that the grief and mourning will be defining me wherever I go, including halfway around the world and back again. That’s not a bad thing, it’s just a new way of life I am adjusting to.