The Work of Grieving

My meditation for today was about patience. 

"I become painfully aware that no one is paying me for all the hours I need to stare into space after a loss." ---Mary Hayes-Grieco

"We become anxious at all the time wasted grieving, curled up on the couch with a balled-up handkerchief, staring off into space, reliving the details of his death over and over again.

There are so many other things we should be doing! Yet in truth this is exactly what we must do right now in order to heal and get on with the business of life.  The laundry may pile up and social and work appointments may be put on hold until we are in a position to be productive.

This is the "work" of mourning, and while there is no tangible compensation, the actual payment is considerable.  If we give ourselves all the time we need, we come out on the other side, rested and ready to resume our worldly responsibilities.  Until then we need to keep pressure to an absolute minimum and remember to be easy on ourselves."
                                                             excerpt from "Living with Loss" by Ellen Sue Stern

At the beginning, after Tom died, there was little I could do but stare into space.  I couldn't keep a cogent thought in my head for more than 3 seconds.  It has progressively gotten better over the months.  And then last week I felt like I was going backwards.  I was crying every day.  It seems that in the car, on my way to a meeting, a song would hit the radio which was one of several on RuMoRs playlist.  One day, the song "Color My World" by Chicago came on.  That was the only song that Tom actually sang with the band and he would always dedicate it to me.  Suddenly the white lines on the road became very blurry.  A week before I decided that I would mix it up a bit and listen to a country station (and I NEVER listen to country).  The third song in was by Phil Vasser, the last lines of the chorus "An' I'm gonna wrap my arms around you,  An' rock you all through the night, An' I'm gonna love you, Like it's the last day of my life".  It a miracle that I actually get to where I am going in one piece.

This past week-end I decided it was time to deal with Tom's drums, selling his vintage Ludwig kit.  In order to do that I needed to photograph it.  So out into the garage I went.  I was doing OK until I open his gear bag.  The smell of gear is very distinctive.  The moment I opened it the memories came out of my eyes and ran down my cheeks.  For a loooong time.  Oh those memories--hauling gear, setting up gear, tearing down gear, watching Tom play, remembering how much he LOVED to play. 

And then yesterday.  What happened to yesterday?  It was the nine month anniversary of his death.  I had been warned that people tend to take a little dip around the nine month mark.  I was not prepared.  I woke up feeling ill--cold and achey.  I couldn't focus on anything.  And I struggled all morning trying to convince myself to work.  I finally realized that it was a useless struggle and gave in to what my body, mind and spirit really needed.  Respite.  So I put on one of Tom's sweatshirts, climbed into bed and cuddled with the dog.  I quickly fell into a lovely nap and felt slightly better when I woke up.  By the time this morning rolled around I felt better and ready to get back to this new life.  Quite frankly I was shocked that it hit as hard as it did.  I've had other days when I hit the wall and could barely get out of the chair.  But I had been doing so much better in recent months.  I just didn't expect it.

Here is the reality, as each week goes by, I realize just a little bit more what I have lost.  Its like peeling an onion.  More is exposed, more tears flow.  What I may have known in my head, I am now learning in my heart.  This is the work of mourning.  Feeling it, living it, coming to terms with it.  I am doing the best that I can.  But there will be days.   They are fewer and further between.  But there will be more.  I want this to all be better, but it will take what it takes.  It takes patience.  Not my strong suit, now, or ever.