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Writer's picturejoehehn

No Choice

Updated: Dec 8, 2018

It's Jessica's birthday today, a day I will always celebrate a bit more than others. Today I honor her with this journal post, enjoy. Happy Birthday Beloved.

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No Choice

After a late night gym sesh of pumping iron like Arnie and giving the bag a bit of work, I’m hauling ass back home on my blacked-out Bonnie. My stomach rumble rivals that of the motor with visions of a mint flavored protein shake dancing in my head. Moments later, neon green smoothie remnants drip down my mouth and arm like I’m a sidelined athlete in a gatorade commercial. A rather entertaining realization bubbles up, “I haven’t showered in two and a half days.” A prideful smirk extends before one last gulp of green machine. “Well, this is what happens when one works from home between trips, passionately burning the candle at both ends.” I smile at the unnecessary need to justify my rare lack of bathing. Smell check, yup - time for a shower. No lights, scented candle, and the twilight soundtrack - yes I’m admitting this publicly. Also the scented candle wasn’t anything wimpy like vanilla pumpkin marshmallow or champagne toast. My candle flaunts a heroic scent; campsite coffee. It’s called balance people. Anyway, here I am, drying off, credited with two more shower-free days.

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It was a good, productive day. I made progress on the several endeavors vying for my attention like knowledgeable students raising enthused hands. I even shared a decent conversation with a dozen or so people today, half of them stressed about something for one reason or another. Pretty typical these days. When someone points out why they’re stressed… I listen, intently so. They like this, I like this, we both like this. And near the end of our exchange, I typically point out they always have something which has the ability to extinguish stress. Choice. Stuck in traffic, you chose to be driving. Jeff at work is an annoying wench, you choose to be at work. Waiter screws up your order, you choose to be eating there. People nod with appeasing smiles while preparing rebuttals, I like this too. For some, I expand further as it helps them develop this perspective, for others, it doesn’t. Anywho, so here I am thinking about my conversations, and the choice we all have. And so naturally I begin pondering upon on my most difficult choice. My hands dry my hair when suddenly I pause my effort with the appearance of a realization, or rather a memory leading up to my most difficult choice.

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Shadows retreat from hidden spaces, crawling up the walls and devouring illumination as I stand just beyond their reach. A horrible - sickly, yellow light bounces off all the reflective surfaces, additional lights and screens beep, blink, and wink within the cookie cutter designed room. My arms - crossed over one another, my face - sunken with impossibility. Eyes exhausted from constant tears driven out from the awe of the situation enveloping me. Some stranger whispers untruths, dark falsehoods slither over my shoulder and into an uncomprehending ear. This man hugs a hospital clipboard into his stark white, medical coat like he’s a sole, marooned survivor clutching a life vest. I think my head is nodding from side to side in disapproval, shutting down the lies before they escape his lips, but it’s not. I haven’t moved in ten minutes. I know the doctor is spinning lies. He must be, for his words are an impossible truth. “Your wife is no longer with us, she’s just not ‘in’ there anymore.” My mind revolts as he explains why but these details fade into nothingness. “This just can’t be.” My unblinking gaze takes in the undulating breast of my Beloved as it ingests breath. An angelic cocoon of crisp, white linens envelop her like sleeping beauty. And here I stand, made to believe she’s not “in” there anymore? She’s right there, living and breathing. Yes she’s hooked up to a mess of machines, a tangle of cords and tubes snaking in around her, breathing, even living for her... but she’s right there, alive. I feel like pointing this out to the doctor. I suddenly break from my indolence, my hand gestures towards her like I’m presenting wordless evidence to dispute his claims. This wasn’t supposed to be, it can’t be. I wasn’t supposed to be given this choice, no one should. “You need to let her go.” He whispers almost inaudibly. I want to rip him limb from limb as his words unleash a violent fury within, only to be extinguished by an ocean of sorrow in the very next instance. Now, now I want to pull him into an embrace, to share in my anguish. “Is this guy fucking crazy? He says it like there’s some decision to be made… like I have to choose to let her go.” Denial knocks.

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This isn’t a choice, it’s a matter of timing. I’ve seen this before; cried at this scene in movies, read it in books, succumbed to a similar performance playing out on stage. There’s no choice, only acceptance of an inevitability. It’s not if I’ll let her go, it’s when. “This is not real, this cannot be happening.” A mantra of sort repeats in my head like I’m trying to wake myself from a lucid nightmare. For hours I wrestle with what feels like palpable demons tearing at my insides. Who knows if this is a long or short amount of time… I have compassion for the one who does. I plead, I promise, I bargain, I pray. I lose myself within her angelic appearance. And after a very long discussion with Jessica, my hands embracing hers… I let my Beloved go, for I had no choice.

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For the first almost two-ish years after Jessica passed, I avoided even thinking about this choice. Any and every time it popped into my mind I literally rejected it, distracting myself doing or thinking something, anything else. Not sure if I buried or escorted it from myself, didn’t care, as long as it was gone. I avoided thinking about this choice at all costs… because I knew I wasn’t strong enough to wrestle the enormity of it. Some might say, I would even say, that I was running from the pain of facing this choice. Today’s version of Joe, here and now, he would say I was preparing. He would say I was training and strengthening my spirit so as to untangle, observe, and understand this choice… planning my escape from its cold clutches.

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I wasn’t preparing alone however, Jess was there with me every step of the way. Guiding me through my journey hand in hand. Leading me down my path as I searched for meaning, reason, illumination, purpose, and for love. Looking over my shoulder as I studied, residing by me as I meditated, helping as I wrote, laughing when I laughed, listening as I spoke, joining along my travels, hand in hand during a sunset, hearing as I prayed, and embracing me as I grieved. I don’t know how, I don’t know why. I just believe she was there, helping her husband from the beyond and never leaving his side. Dozens of people told me she came to visit them in their dreams, people she knew and others she didn’t. All the same message, “She wanted me to tell you she loves you.” Signs of her sweeping across my reality each and every day, things I can’t explain nor care to, coincidences too coincidental to be such. Memories, dreams, and omens flooding my existence as I continued to request her guidance through all that manifested in my life. Messages passed along to me through loved ones, friends, mediums, and even utter strangers.

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So if Jessica is able to guide, to love me, from “there”, wherever there is, and she’s certainly not here, not in the capacity my mind can understand; then my Beloved is still alive in some measure, in some capacity beyond my understanding. She’s not dead, not in the way I used to consider what being dead meant. This may sound batshit crazy to some, and like a fairytale to others, but it’s a truth, my truth. A belief which breathes life into me, warms my being and keeps me motivated to love more and to learn more. So apparently I’ve learned a little something about this post shower reflection, something rather ironic. If Jess is always with me, forever loving and guiding her Beloved… then in the end, she never left my side. I finish drying my hair, lean in over the sink while gazing into my own smiling reflection. Candle light flickers across my grateful, humbled countenance. And a new realization settles peacefully into my being; I never really had to let her go, because Jessica gave me no choice.





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