MAY 17
I will miss seeing her face and hearing her voice and knowing
she was always there close to me. She has crossed a river
from me that I must wait to cross before I see her again.
When I see a river, I will think of her.
—TERRY KAYHow we miss the common everyday companionship of our
loved one—the face across the table, the presence in bed,
the voice calling our name.
There is a way in which this presence lingers for a long
time, until the wound heals enough that we are able, finally,
to acknowledge the separation.
Then our image of our loved one can become more fo-
cused, rather than scattered here and there in all the places
we were used to their being. They have indeed “crossed a
river.”
It is helpful to play through this fantasy in our head. The
image is strong, and fitting, as evidenced by its use in myths
about the passage into death. I remember doing just this
with the help of a therapist friend—in my mind coming to
a river and relinquishing my daughter’s hand and watching
her cross over. I remember the struggle, and the tears, and,
finally, the sense of relief—that the truth had been honored,
that she was safe, that I would cross the same river when
my time came.
When I see a river, I will think of you.