Observations at 3 and Half Months Out

I am no longer numb.  But I still can hardly believe Roger is never coming back.  Often it seems like he's just away on another extended business trip.

I realized a few days ago that I have not sat in the living for more than a few minutes at a time since his death.  It was Roger's room, the room where he held court and told funny stories, or got outraged over politics.  It was the room we sat in together at the end of each day.  I haven't been comfortable there without him.  That's all well and good, but I cannot go on avoiding the living room forever.

I realized that I have been so deep in my own grief that I didn't even notice others are grieving too.  To those of you that loved Roger, I am sorry that I haven't paid attention.

I realized that, while I am now more comfortable making references to Roger and to his death and to my grief, other people are less comfortable with it.  I guess they think I should be over it by now.  Don't worry, you are not expected to say anything profound.  "Sorry you're going through this" is sufficient.  Or, don't say anything, just be tolerant and let me be in it until it passes.

I am realizing, day by day, that I am alright with being by myself.  I am lonely for Roger but I am never bored.  I enjoy the feeling of competence that comes of knowing I can take care of myself.

I am simplifying my life.  Eliminating tasks that are not essential and belongings that no longer belong.  I avoid news and politics; I don't need that stress right now.  I make plans if I feel like it and I bag out if I feel like it.

I am getting by.  I hope you are too.

Cloud Burst

If it's true that I am the sum total of all that I have experienced, then it's fair to say that I am not just experiencing my grief now.  I AM grief.  Father. Brother. Sister. Sister. Friend. Mother.  And now, husband.  My grief is compounded by the relentlessness of loss (it just keeps happening!) and by witnessing the mourning of those I love.  I'm caught in a sad cycle of self-pity-->empathy-->self-pity that will never bring back the dead or make up for the losses.  What do we gain from so much sadness?

It's a cloud burst of grief.  Or, a grief burst, if you will.



I had a pretty good week or ten days.  Life seemed less intense.  The challenges did not seem insurmountable.  I was taking care of business, not too happy and not too sad.  And then the wound reopened suddenly, without anything in particular to trigger it.  Or maybe there was a trigger and I didn't recognize it as such.

Today, I will give in to this.  It's Sunday, so I can stay in and stay quiet.  I will hang around the house wearing yoga pants and no makeup, feeling sorry for myself if that's what needs to happen, until this passes.

This sadness is only made tolerable by the knowledge that it is a squall.  As quickly as it came, it could go.  I also know that it will happen again and again.  I hope that each time a grief burst occurs it will be more brief and less painful.

I miss Roger.  He would know how to snap me out of this. 

Getting Used To It

As I pulled into the driveway this evening in Roger's beloved Volvo station wagon I  realized I'm getting used to coming home to an empty house.  I don't love it, but I am thankful that I no longer come in the door expecting to see his big old cheery smile and being suddenly and sadly reminded that Roger and his smile are no longer here. 

It sounds like a very small step, but I count it as progress.  Getting used to it is the best that can be expected right now.

How to Survive a Birthday

This is all that April should be:

 

 

And this is what it is:

This week my friend took me out -- okay, dragged me out -- to celebrate Roger's birthday.  It was hard.  I couldn't help but think of how we spent his birthday last year.  Can it only have been one year ago?  A road trip, meeting up with friends, eating seafood and drinking champagne, but most importantly, feeling healthy and optimistic, feeling like we'd beat the odds.  It was so much fun.  This year, not so much.

Although it was painful, we toasted Roger and shed a few bittersweet tears.  Thank you, Terri.  I would have stayed at home and wallowed in self-pity if you hadn't taken me out.  They say that alcohol is no cure for grief.  I get that.  As soon as it wears off, the grief is right there waiting to surge back in.  But, with the acknowledgement that it's not a solution, and with the caveat that I would shed tears before and after, it was nice to have relief from the pain for a couple of hours.  It was just what the doctor ordered, in fact.  I feel greatly relieved that this "first" birthday is over.  I don't think I'll need to be dragged out to celebrate next year.

 I so want to get to a place where memories of Roger trigger smiles, not tears.