Man, it’s hard to go anywhere without thinking about Di. I don’t cry as often anymore and it usually happens unexpectedly. But I do and will for awhile because I miss her so much. The feelings I have for her won’t go away over night. She was a huge part of my life . The grieving will go on regardless if I want to or don’t.
One of the things we enjoyed was going to the movies. Most of the time it was movies of her choice and I just went along. The movies I picked usually got the review of “I really liked that. It was better than I thought it would be. I went to the movies Friday night and saw Deadpool 2. Before I met Di, I would have never given Deadpool (or the sequel) a second thought. She loved nerdy stuff, like Star Wars, the Marvel superhero movies, science fiction/dystopian/ post-apocalyptic books. None of the things I was into or enjoyed remotely. But I was determined to try and understand. We spent a weekend early in our relationship watching the TV series, Firefly. I really enjoyed Firefly because it was well written, funny and not full of sci-fi cliches. The original Deadpool was also, irreverently funny and well written, but it didn’t take itself too seriously. One of my favorite scenes is when Wade Wilson (Ryan Reynolds) meets the very sexy and alluring prostitute Vanessa, played by Morena Baccarin. She also played Alara Serra, a stunning and sophisticated “companion” on Firefly.
The dialogue I loved between Wade and Vanessa is not from the scene in the photo. I wanted that scene, but couldn’t find it. The scene I loved was when Wade and Vanessa met. It’s full of sexual tension and humour (“Hey, what can I get for, uh, $275 and a Yogurtland rewards card?” “Baby, about 48 minutes of whatever the fuck you want…and a low-fat dessert”) What he wants is to play skee ball because he wants to get to know her better. The hot stuff came later….2 minutes later. Scorching hot.
Di and I saw Deadpool when it was released in 2016 before cancer pushed its way uninvited into our relationship. When I streamed the original movie before seeing the sequel, I saw the scenes when Wade discovers he has late-stage cancer and Vanessa becomes his advocate. “We will beat this”, she tells Wade. They were the same words I said to Di when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Not can or might, but will. The transformation that Wade underwent to become Deadpool cured his cancer. I wish that I could say that the love and support I gave Di cured her cancer.
I saw some parallels between the fictional story of the original Deadpool and the real life 9 months leading up to Di’s death. We both shared a deep, passionate love, interjected with humour and silliness, and a steadfast devotion to one another. But Wade left Vanessa while she was sleeping, to seek out an alternative cure. That cure eventually left him a disfigured mutant. He didn’t return because he lacked faith in her, believing she would reject him when she saw his disfigured face. I had always held out for Di’s recovery. She found out six weeks before she died that the cancer, which was ravaging her insides, was incurable. Di felt guilty that she was putting me through this painful event, occasionally reminding me that it was okay for me to walk away. I couldn’t or wouldn’t leave, even if leaving Di would have been easier on me. I just couldn’t walk. I’m not cut like that.
But I digress…
It turns out that Vanessa didn’t die in Deadpool 2. As I walked to my car after the movie, I looked up to the sky. I do that alot because I hope that Di can hear me. I’d like to think that she can hear me. I looked up at the sky and said that I wished I could bring her back. I told her that I wished that I was with her the night that she died so I could tell her everything I needed to tell her. I wanted to tell her that it was okay to die. I wanted to thank her for making me a better man, for all the good (and bad) times, and to thank her for the life we shared. But I knew that she couldn’t communicate with me. She was so weak that she couldn’t move without help. Her text messages were a garble of letters, and the morphine drip kept her in a doped up state where she couldn’t speak. In other words, not exactly how we picture ourselves on our death bed.
I sat down in the car and the tears flowed uncontrollably. It feels good to unload this emotional baggage, but I feel like a raw nerve when I can pull myself together. Crying makes me feel so vulnerable and fragile. That’s how I’ve felt every day since December 23, 2017 when I took the call from Di’s sister to share the news with me. Vulnerable, fragile and numb. The waves of emotion that drives me to tears are cresting at greater intervals. They have come further and further apart, making them easier to manage. Someday the intervals will increase, but they won’t go away completely. I simply have to remind myself that the crying or any emotional twitch is normal. Just recognize it, allow myself to feel it, then let it work its way out of me, enabling me to pull it together and carry on.