The Initials of One’s Life
When in a discussion with a good friend about the caring for her mother who had cognitive decline, she shared that she always uses the terms “B.D.” and “A.D.” to mean “before dementia” and “after dementia.” That is how stark the difference in the lives of the family members caring for their loved one, actually becomes.
“A.D.” of course can also be an abbreviation for “After Death,” and takes on new meaning once again. How does one pick themselves up and dust themselves off, after years and years of being focused on another being who depends on them for every breath and step which they take? Chapters I have written, such as “Where did I lose me?” address what happens to one’s sense of “self” in the caregiving process. When it abruptly comes to an end, we are left with the necessity to redefine ourselves. It is then time to reassess our goals, our attitudes, and our priorities. How do we now want to be viewed?
We are not the same people we were when we went into the fray. For myself, I find that now I am quite prepared to express how I feel in situations where I probably should not. A friend telling a story to me in an auditorium filled with hundreds of people, whilst screaming the words in decibels I could not tolerate…had to be told! She was shocked and moved away to another seat soon after. Another friend who wanted to meet with me and another friend of hers for lunch was a bit surprised when I told her that I wanted the luncheon to be just for the two of us. I did not have the energy to listen to the other two women who would inevitably be discussing the latest news about people from their hometown. People whom I have never met clutter my brain from functioning. I now have no interest in large social gatherings frequented with people I do not know where small talk rules the day. There is no residual energy for the “unnecessary” after the past 15 years of caring for Hubby, in our 50 year, almost rock-solid marriage. I think it is only fair to put in the word “almost,” lest my readers think I am delusional or somehow without my obvious imperfections.
Indeed, there is in my life, “B.D.” and “A.D.” Whilst I am still me, I am a different “me” in the era of “A.D.”
We are so used to using initials to describe what we are too impatient to say in full: USB, AI, IBS, IRA, IRS, CIA, USSR, and the list goes on and on.
I am quite fond of initials. As a college student, I treasured a piece of jewelry, a pin which was all the rage, with the initial of my last name in the center, flanked by my first and middle initials in gold. It was tres chic to wear it on the small round-collared “Villager” blouses of the era. I was not thrilled that my initials as a single woman were “B. S.,” (my last name being Solomon) so having the “L” for my middle name, added to the mix (B. L. S.) was perfect.
When Hubby and I became “one,” I was quite happy to change my initials entirely to “B. D.” His initials were the same and that had many benefits. I often use the signature “B. D.” when a totally unnecessary signature is required for a credit card purchase, or postal delivery confirmation.
When shopping in an antique book store in Paris, I was “taken” with an ancient velvet covered prayer book which had an exquisite silver carved embellishment on the cover with the letter “D” in the center, and a smaller “B” to both the right and left of it. Clearly it was intended for Hubby and I to share for eternity. Another prayer book, this time covered in leather, with the letters “B. D.” in gold leaf, could likewise not be left for others to purchase.
It was also convenient to use the two initials to embroider on towels, bathrobes, and other sundry items. Each of Hubby’s custom-made shirts had the two initials on the left of the chest. Although there was no way I could share them, I have retained a few of them now that he has passed. His fur jacket – enjoyed for 30 years and now given to an elegant younger friend who appreciates fine clothing – has the two initials embroidered on the lining. He said it would make him think of Hubby every time he would wear it.
This is a preamble of sorts, to sharing with you that yesterday I ordered the tombstone for Hubby’s grave. Actually, it is the tombstone for the grave which we will one day share, side by side. There is something ominous about being part of the process to design and order one’s own headstone. The unveiling will be in another month, when our son can attend from the United States.
When Hubby and I selected the plots some twenty plus years ago, he was concerned as to who would go where. He insisted that he should be on the right as he always slept on the right side of our bed. That made some sort of sense at the time and stayed with me. The saying that “man plans and G-d laughs” seems appropriate here. When the grave was dug for Hubby, it was placed on the left of the two plots. Hubby did not get his wish, and at the time of his passing, I was too certainly too preoccupied to pay attention and advise the cemetery of his instructions.
I knew that I wanted to have one stone “headboard” above the two graves, which would evoke the feeling of a bed. “Resting in peace” required of course, the selection of pink Jerusalem stone with black engraving.
Our last name is really quite ordinary. I cannot count the number of times that people have commented how wonderful it must be to have the name “Diamond.” It has been lovely, except that everyone knows other families with the same last name and assume that we are somehow connected, which we never are.
Normally, double headstones have the last name of the person engraved in large letters. As there are so many people named “Diamond,” I broke tradition and asked that it say: “B. Diamond.” Once again, having the same initials as Hubby worked well.
One day, we will both lie there and all will be as it was intended. Both “B. Diamonds” will rest there for all of time. As was written on our wedding invitation, a quote from the prophet Khalil Gibran: “It began with a glance…and will end with eternity.”
