Who keeps us
On promises kept and who carries the memory of us when we’re gone.
I vowed
in sickness and in health
I am still here after
til death do us part
I recently took off my wedding band. I put it in a special place, where I see it daily, beside a pair of John’s glasses and a gold pendant stamped with his left thumbprint.
’Til death do us part. I promised that and I kept it. I never imagined a time after the ‘til. And yet here I am, living in it — a place where my promise is fulfilled.
Are they only real as long as she chooses to believe they’re real?
— from Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman
I have lost three grandparents and an uncle in my life. My paternal grandfather, I never knew, he passed before I was born. I was quite close, as a child, to my maternal grandfather, and he passed away just a few years ago. My paternal grandmother died when I was in the 2nd grade, but was a big part of my life until then. My uncle was a consistent part of my life through adulthood.
But the truth is, I can go weeks, even months, without thinking of these souls. They were real. They are real. But to me, are they now, when I move through the world without noticing their absence?
I realize it sounds callous. Removed. Unkind, even. But it is simply true. Memory is imperfect. Familial love does not equal constant conscious recall. I reflect upon this, and it feels so sad to me. I can understand that they were not part of my daily life. They were my family. They were a part of me. But still, not in the same way John was.
Grief has me reflecting on the awfulness of being forgotten. Who will remember you? Me? Who will keep us real once we are no longer here? Maybe that is part of what makes being remembered by someone such a profound form of love.
John is woven into the very core of my heart. I carry him differently. I chose him. A connection not by our blood, but through Raffa’s. A promise, those vows, I made and kept, now dissolved upon his death. The promise did not fail. It was completed.
I see the beauty in that bond, that promise. Because I cannot claim to do a good job of holding everyone I have lost. I cannot say that I am the keeper for even those I am related to by blood. But I will continue to do that for John.
Eight months later, it is finally a comfort to reflect on how I loved him in that way — and love him still. Love like that does not end when someone dies. It changes form and continues through the life of the person who remains. Carrying him is part of who I am as I move forward, wherever forward leads.
And as my life expands around my grief, I cannot help but feel proud and protective of this holding. Because not everyone is remembered. I won’t remember everyone daily. And not everyone will remember me.
I could not save John, as much as I wish I could have.
But I get to honor him with my love. Even as I step into my future.
Oh, Chloe. This brought tears back to the surface. Thank you for sharing. 💔💕
Chloe, thank you for continuing to write. I think of John often, he was truly one of a kind. Wishing you and Raffa continued strength.