21 Years (Yes, 21) Without Michael
Folks, about a week ago, I observed the title milestone, one I wish I’d never have had to face.
There’s this weird thing about numbers, you see. They can really freak you out. I remember September 21, 2011, as that was the seventh year since Michael died. Supposedly, all the cells in your body are replaced within seven years. I didn’t like that milestone either.
Others I haven’t liked included in that same year the day I turned a day older than Michael was when he died (no, I’m not going to mention which day) and of course the day my best friend, Jeff Wilson, died in November.
So, the sad milestones (“sadaversaries” in my parlance, a contraction of sad and anniversaries) have kept piling up. Ten years without Michael on September 21, 2014. Twenty years without him, last year. And twenty-one years without him this year…it’s something we do, as human beings, to both mark the passage of time and the people who shaped us and meant the most to us. It must not be too surprising that I always know exactly how long it’s been without my beloved husband. But it’s still difficult, challenging, and frustrating.
The reason twenty-one years is significant has to do with something I once heard about learning music and other skills. If you have the talent and you put in the work, it supposedly takes twenty-one years to be adept in any given discipline.
How does that apply, though? Does that mean I’m adept at grieving now?
I don’t know. I wish I did.
There’s a lot of people I miss in this life. My grandma. My father. My aunt Laurice and uncle Carl. Jeff Wilson. Those are all huge losses, and I will remember them all until the end of my life.
But nothing and no one has ever been more important to me than my late husband. Michael understood me and I understood him. We fit in every possible way, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. We had amazing, wide-ranging conversations, we were both creative (in addition to his writing, he was a great cook and an excellent artist), we both wanted most of the same things — stability, honesty, a deep and abiding commitment to one another, and to be together as long as we possibly could.
We did get almost three years from the time I met him, and two years, two months, and twenty-eight days of marriage. After so much loss, so much sadness, it seemed absolutely miraculous to meet Michael, and I know he felt the same way about me.
I’m still struggling with trying to find a new place to live. I’m also struggling with many other things at the moment, none of them particularly pleasant. But it does help me to know that Michael always believed in me, and he thought no matter how long it took, I would always find a way through any problem.
In short, I’d always survive.
When he was alive, of course, it would’ve been “survive and thrive.” But right now, survival is what I need to cling to, along with the belief that I can, will, and must get out of the current situation and into a better one.
Michael would tell me, if he could, that I have not failed. Not as a writer, as a musician, as a scholar, as a wife, or even as a widow. That I have not failed. So long as I keep trying, so long as there’s even a breath remaining in my body, I have not failed.
I’m trying to keep that thought in the top of my mind, these days, as the struggle continues.
Written by Barb Caffrey
September 27, 2025 at 10:14 pm
Posted in Faith, heartbreaking stories, in general, Michael B. Caffrey, Persistence, Prescient observations, Remembrance, Widowhood, Writing
Tagged with family, life, love, mental health, personal update, sad anniversaries, survival, widows, writing
6 Responses
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Barb Caffrey's Blog 
I know that. Our anniversary was Sat of Labor Day weekend. Her birthday was two weeks ago. And the end of Oct… will be twenty-eight motherfucking years.
mark
September 27, 2025 at 10:26 pm
I’m sorry, Mark. That’s really tough. 😦
Barb Caffrey
September 27, 2025 at 11:42 pm
Given that she dropped dead for no fucking reason – the coroner’s report said “cardiac arrhythmia, meaning “we have no fucking clue, cozmic rays…” there’s nothing for me to blame. What, blame the univese for not caring. Right, go yell at the clouds.
You hang in there, too.
mark
September 27, 2025 at 11:59 pm
I shall try.
Yes, it’s very hard when they have no idea what the Hell happened. With Michael, all they could tell me was that he’d had a very bad heart attack and had the beginning of arteriosclerosis (hardening of the arteries). That was it. There was some unofficial speculation that Michael might’ve had some sort of genetic issue where his heart could not be brought back into rhythm after the first bad heart attack. (He had four in ten hours.) He’d passed a stress test earlier in the year, so there just was no warning at all of this.
Michael knew he had other health issues. He had psoriasis. He had arthritis and it probably was psoriatic arthritis (even more painful, and linked to the psoriasis in some way I never understood). He, like me, fought depression every day of his life. He sometimes was nervous — though if he hadn’t been, I’d have wondered if he wasn’t human, as he had a unique serenity to him that was incredibly appealing. (He also was down to earth and made me laugh every day. I tried to do the same for him.)
This may sound weird, but…I read a book years ago (I forget which or I’d tell you) where the minister, after watching a newly widowed woman curse God, nodded.
Why did he nod? Well, as he told his fellow minister, if the widowed woman was angry, and was willing to curse God, that meant the woman still had a relationship with God. (I am using the monotheistic term as it was used in this particular book. I think God can be anything and anyone, and I like to think of God/dess as female.)
So, yes. If you believe in the Higher Power, be angry at God.
I know I was. For many years, I was really frustrated, angry, and upset with God. (Sometimes still am, too.) I wondered why Michael, who was such a wonderful person and husband, had died when others who weren’t anywhere near as good were still here messing up the world and their lives.
I don’t know the answers, and sometimes I don’t even know the questions. But what I do know is, Michael was a firm believer in we humans coming to this Earth in order to do something (or maybe a whole bunch of somethings). He told me after we’d married that he felt his life was complete. Not just with me in it, with him, and us being so happy together, but he felt that he’d done more than enough in this life.
He said that while he didn’t want to go anywhere (much less Upstairs or wherever we go when our bodies die), everything from this point was optional. I am still not entirely sure of what he meant by that, as he’d just walked ten miles (our car had crapped out and it was after the buses had stopped) and was really exhausted. (Possibly the most exhausted I’d ever seen him, though after we’d moved into our new place in Iowa, that came pretty close.)
Michael’s view was that while he had many things he wanted to do, including finish his novels and suchlike, he’d accomplished all the main things. Plus, he’d hoped to find me, but hadn’t known where I was, much less who I was. (Michael, like me, was divorced. Unlike me, he and his ex-wife stayed close friends. They were like sister and brother, in a way. For the record, I tried to remain friends with one of my exes, but it just didn’t happen.)
Anyway, that was a long digression, I know. But the important part is, we can only do our best. And in so doing, we can remember those who have made the biggest impact on our lives (especially those like Michael who made huge positive impacts).
It isn’t enough. I wish it were. But it’s better than not remembering them and not having been affected by them.
Barb Caffrey
September 28, 2025 at 5:11 am
I don’t think we’re ever adept at grieving… I like the line from “Wake Me Up” Avicii – “I tried carrying the weight of the world, but I only have two hands”. Grief is like carrying the weight of the world, and there’s no getting used to carrying it, you just learn to accept that the weight is there, and sometimes you can walk away from it, other times you’re chained to it.
Just know that I’m here. And I have a few things for when you get into your new apartment, which I hope comes to you soon.
likamarie
September 27, 2025 at 10:45 pm
Thanks, Lika. I appreciate that, and you, very much. 🙂
Barb Caffrey
September 27, 2025 at 11:42 pm