When Facebook memories attack

Facebook reminded me that exactly three years ago today, I watched My Love, Don't Cross That River. It made quite an impression: I posted that it "ripped my heart out, threw it on the floor, and stomped it. UGLY crying, y'all." I remember it vividly; I remember it physically. I remember watching it and thinking that would be Doug and me someday: old-old-old, still laughing, still making fun of each other, still touching all the time. I remember FEELING Gye-yeul's pain when Byong-man died. I remember the heavy feeling, like a rock in the pit of my stomach, knowing that someday I would almost certainly be where she was; I remember the thought being so terrifying that I had to stop thinking about it, because I nearly had a panic attack.

"Someday," of course, was supposed to be at least 20 years away; that's the deal we made.

Little did I know that I'd find myself in Gye-yeul's shoes less than three years later. And with the clarity that only hindsight and widowhood can bring to this film's interpretation, I can say that the feelings the film elicited in me when I watched it three years ago were pretty damn close to how the real thing feels, albeit with less intensity. Except that now, there's no deciding not to think about it, because it's my reality.

Of course, Gye-yeul and Byong-man had over 70 years together, and so had a lifetime of history; I can't say our stories are analogous beyond the fact that we both lost the love of our lives. Another distinction: Gye-yeul knew her husband was dying long before his death, which I'm sure is its own special agony that I did not have to suffer. One thing she said, not long before he died, has stuck with me: "Hubby can go and get settled. And if I don't come soon enough, come and get me, will you, Hubby?"  How many times have I asked Doug to come and get me in the past almost-seven months? At least once every damn day. Near the end, Gye-yeul muses how nice it would be if they could go together, holding hands; I know now exactly what she meant.

I remember that she continued to talk to Byong-man after he died, as though he were still right there, as I often talk to Doug. I remember her wailing inconsolably, as I so often do. I remember thinking that the only comfort was that, at 89, she likely wouldn't have to wait too long to join him.

As of 2019 (the most recent update I could find), she was still alive, which may be the saddest thing I've ever heard.

I ask again - and I probably will, every day, until I either find an answer or give up (because maybe if I keep asking, I'll get an answer from someone or from the universe): what do you do when you DESPERATELY need hope, but there's no hope to be had? Where do you find hope when you don't even believe it exists?