New Love After the Death of My Wife
Monday, September 27, 2021
We consolidated Lynn’s clothes into a closet and a bureau, unearthed her beautiful scarves and handbags, and put them in a couple of baskets in the living room. We went through her family photos, collected her sketchbooks into one pile, and flipped through years of drawings.
The whole process was immensely sad. Every day brought dozens of touchstones of our shared life: photos that I examined, perfumes that I sniffed, and handwritten notes that I read until I couldn’t bear to read further. I was sad from morning to night and cried frequently. But it also seemed necessary.
The longer Cordelia worked at it, the better the place felt, until it reminded me of the apartment as it used to be. And in doing this, Cordelia and I were constantly talking about Lynn: what she wore, how she moved in the kitchen, how she interacted with all these objects. Again and again, Cordelia said she was getting to know Lynn through this process.
The Storm of Memory
One morning we lay in bed talking. I said I had felt sad from the moment I awoke, and Corde said, “Yes, I feel that way too.” I assumed she was thinking about her divorce, but she said no: “I realized that I’ve been cleaning and fixing up the apartment not only for me but also for Lynn, so that Lynn will smile when she walks in the door, will sit down, and feel comfortable. And it just hit me that she’s never coming back.” The magical thinking was affecting Cordelia, too.
That was a week ago. Corde drove back to Minneapolis, leaving me alone here for the first time in several months, and instead of feeling worse, I’ve felt stronger each day. I passed through a storm of grief and memory, but now, at least for a while, I can enjoy being in the home that Lynn and I created.
Remembering Our Hope
Before we accepted that she was dying, but after things started going very wrong, Lynn began tracking her vital signs. We bought a blood pressure cuff, a pulse oximeter and a fancy thermometer, and Lynn used them four times a day, carefully recording the results in a small notepad along with each bowel movement and pain pill.
Every time her blood pressure spiked, we’d think, oh no, this is it, the drug has stopped working. Then her vitals would return to normal, and we’d breathe a sigh of relief.
When we saw Lynn’s doctors we brought the notes with us, but really, we wrote them for ourselves. We wanted to believe that she was getting better, and we hoped these records would demonstrate that we were going in the right direction.
Corde brought me that notepad. I knew it was something special: page after page in Lynn’s distinctive handwriting. But I couldn’t bring myself to read it. Remembering our hope was just too painful. I put the notebook away somewhere, and when I wrote the post on CaringBridge, I didn’t even mention it.
Tony Stewart is the author of Carrying the Tiger: Living with Cancer, Dying with Grace, Finding Joy while Grieving, by Tony Stewart. Copyright © 2025 Anthony Stewart. Reprinted with permission from West End Books.
Visit Tony Stewart on his website.
Read more about spouse-loss: The Emotions of Spouse Loss – Open to Hope
