Blossom

Excruciating not to receive answers to questions I am posing to Lara. Or spontaneous comments from her side. I hate the silence, and miss the quick repartee.

What one needs to remember is that over a period of almost nine months, Lara and I lived together without interruption. Before she turned into the hospital anew, at the end of March 2012, we would talk to each other the whole day. Every thought or impression worth vocalizing was communicated back and forth. We would do things together all the time - shopping, the movies, the gym, family visits, friendly dinners and what not else. At least a hundred times a day we would check and verify something between the two of us. She was always there, available to engage.

I miss the immediacy of her presence. Although: this past weekend, when in Germany, I had a conversation with her. As it happened, I had walked out of a dinner onto a public square, because inside, unpredictably as always, emotions were getting the better of me all of a sudden. I didn't want to embarrass myself, or the company at the table, most of them unaware of my recent loss (barely two weeks).

Of course, I have to be careful. Anybody can conjure up an imaginary conversation with somebody else in his own mind, even with an imaginary person. If you do that on the spot, the speed of the conversation may not to be as high as in real life. It is like playing a game of chess against yourself. You have to constantly twist and turn; it slows you down. And that was precisely the difference. There was a voice in my head, Lara's voice, from before she became sick, and I was silently talking to her, or maybe muttering to myself. Remarkably, the answers from her side came much more quickly than I could think them up. I didn't have time to imagine them. We even interrupted each other as we normally would have in a real-time exchange.

The conversation was strikingly banale, due to the hapless way I approached the opportunity. I was unprepared, caught off-guard, but even so. "How are you?", I asked. "I am fine, don't worry about me", she said. And so it continued for several minutes. But the point was more in the contact than the content. The very fact that we were even talking like this, that was the rich part! It was totally unscary. No goose pimples as people easily get when in a spiritual encounter. The experience was reassuring and satisfying in a wonderful way.

That was once. Silence reigns again.

And with silence, doubts crop up.

Why is she not talking to me? You read of dead people appearing to their loved ones. I haven't received a visit! Why not? She's been dead for over three weeks! Isn't there some sort of deadline, I chuckle? Did I do something wrong perhaps? Is she angered or displeased? In her enlightened state, has she gained insights that make her less loving towards me? Has she turned away from me perhaps? Could I still face her?

These doubts are part of grieving, as I know from helpful counselors. But knowing that they are is not enough. They still eat away at you. I dismiss the thoughts rationally, but in my heart I stay worried. I call up friends of ours, dear to Lara in particular, people she has confided in, who have known her for much longer than I have. I ask them to reassure me. Did she truly love me all those years? Did she trust me? Was I measuring up to her? Did I make her happy?

Deep down I believe I know the answers, but I need to hear them with unimpeachable conviction. Friends do reassure me. Lara's love for me, they say, was deep and unwavering. Even when she was mad at you, she once said, she still loved you. Her love for you, they say, was unconditional. One said, that the only aspect of reincarnation that interested her was whether you and she would be together again. She was just happy she would not lose  you. Lara told Yasmin: "I want to be with Opa." (see "More Signs") Proof positive.

What about trust, I ask? Lara, by her own account, I knew, had trust issues since a very young age. Friends are unanimous: her trust in you was unshakable. She knew you would always be there for her, stand up for her, find her wherever she would end up, and come and get her. She believed you were both faithful and loyal. And yes, you were a la hauteur, no doubt. Lara, a woman with a sharp mind, would never have married anybody with a peanut for a brain.

And, yes, you made her a happier person. She was not before you two met. In fact, she was deeply unhappy. But we saw her getting more and more complete and balanced as a person as she grew into the marriage. And on the rebound, you became happier, too. We saw it. You had a wonderful relationshp, they claim. Most of all, says her oldest friend, you gave Lara the freedom to blossom. And she did.

I smile through my tears. What more assurance do I need?