Earlier today #4 said he was having trouble focusing. I confessed to having the same issue. Not just mind-focusing, but my eyes are wonky, as are his. I don’t think it’s a call for a visit to the optometrist, but more a physical symptom of the ongoing grief. Particularly since it’s coming up on a year since Himself left this Earth for better things.
I was pondering on that last night and this morning, the whole thing of belief, and what a tremendous…not sure how to put it…relief? Maybe…something like that…any way, how knowing where Himself has gone to, and how much better off he is there than here, all of that folds into a sort of helium balloon that carried our grief a bit lighter. I think if we thought of him as GONE, worm food, ceasing to exist entirely, how much heavier the burden would be. I don’t want him GONE. Being able to consider that he’s busy doing wonderful things allows me to let go of the grief (to some extent) and carry on with my life here. Missing him is just missing him because he is elsewhere, not missing him because he is GONE. What a tremendous gift that has been.
Nonetheless, we miss him. A lot. For a whole year, we have missed him. Granted, we have become accustomed to it, for the most part, so it is no longer something that absolutely gobsmacks us. Now, it’s a weight we carry with muscles that are used to carrying it. Now we can eat, and sleep. That’s a good thing because those are kind of necessary. I still cry occasionally, maybe when coming across a thing of his. The closet still holds his clothes and the dresser is still there. It’s comfortable. There is a deadline for passing them on: when we move. I won’t move the stuff with me, but until then they aren’t hurting anything. I still don’t like going into his shop. Without him there it’s just a barn, but there is an old cigar butt, or a set of clamps, or some other thing that is purely his, and I can see him with it. I’m not ready to make a fond smile about that yet.
I think I’m at the point where I know he could look down and see I’m doing well, and he would be proud of me. Respect was very important to him, and to a degree I was worried (like it mattered!) that he would think I was being disrespectful of his memory by getting my act together so quickly. I know that may sound strange, but I know him and he would have loved a bit of incapacitation on my part. That’s not my way, though. However, I have indulged him a little bit, with occasional curling up in a ball and closing the door for some private grief. I know he’d like that, just as I know he’d like that I am in school and working on getting on with life.
But right now, it’s kind of heavy because of the impending anniversary (or sadiversary, as it’s called in grief circles). He was an Anniversary Loving sort, celebrating all sorts of of them as often as possible. I think, on the 24th, I’ll seek to gather us all together for a meal and a toast with his bourbon. If I can. If it’s too hard, I’ll show him some respect with a private wadding-in-a-ball grief thing.
And then I’ll get on with the Second Year. School, planning of futures, and head-shaking perplexion (is that even a word?) at being a Widow, because that was NOT in the plans. However, if I’ve learned one thing this year, it’s that the most carefully made plans..etc.etc.