Taking the Fall

Tonight’s cool, crisp autumn air threw me into a downward spiraling nosedive which resulted in my sinking deep into a cesspool of inconsolable grief.

Like a toddler throwing a tantrum, I cried, cried harder and then cried even harder than that. At first, I thought I would let it run its course and get it all out of my system but it soon became apparent that there was no end to this one and so I cut it short by swallowing an Ativan. I guess I was consolable, afterall.

Sometimes I just don’t have the time to grieve. I have a midterm to study for and it’s this Wednesday night.

The seasons can sure bring my sadness right up to the surface of my brain. I remember looking down my street the day that Chris died, seeing snow on the street and in the trees. The neighborhood was in a deep freeze, quite fittingly. I knew there was no way I could be in that same neighborhood come this winter.

That frozen over street was the same street Chris and I walked down, hand-in-hand, on our way to get a coffee, on many of our Saturday afternoon walks, on the way to the mailbox, to Davis Square, the Rosebud Diner. When spring came and the snow began to melt, the appearance of green brought me comfort, but also brought me to my knees when with each inch of reappearing grass arrives another season gone, another season without Chris in my life. “

Summer’s arrival was slightly less painfull although I was aware that the two of us would never go to the cape again and we’d never walk to J.P. Licks for icecream again.

Fall has always been my favorite season. For years I imagined myself walking through trees with a nameless faceless man, holding hands, laughing, loving and enjoying the most romantic season of the four. I thought he would never come and when he finally did, our love began blossoming and never stopped. We began sleeping at each others’ apartments because neither of us could bear to say good-bye at the end of an evening together. Now I’m not sure I can take the fall and all of it’s orange, brown and gold tones.

I have yet to see what revisited trauma this winter will bring with it. The one-year anniversary of Chris’ death is just around the corner. His birthday is coming up. I’m going to spend his birthday and Thanksgiving with his (my new) family. We need to be together for each other.

I hate what happened. I hate THAT it happened. I hate that he’s gone. I hate that I’m without him.

Life is going to be difficult for a while, but my new social worker is a perfect fit for me and just talking with him gives me new strength to face things I have not yet faced, things that I have buried in parts of my brain that I can’t dig up on my own. Not without a tray of fresh, hot, delicious Ativan brownies by my side.