Mountains, Books and Grief

After work tonight, I wandered around the city. I had no destination in mind, I just felt like wandering. I was not really in the mood to go home, but there was also nowhere in particular I felt like being. On my way down Summer Street, toward Winter Street, I made a snap decision to wander up to the eighth floor of Filene’s and visit my former coworker and one of my favorite people in the world, Brian.

Brian and Joe, who was also there tonight, are the only two people left at Filene’s who were there when Chris and I got the news of his diagnosis. I remember asking the two of them, along with Rodney and Pete to come into a vacant office with me so I could let them know what was going on. I could barely spit out the words before I began crying, but I continued on to tell them that we had also become engaged on the way home that day in an effort to transform the day from “the day we got the diagnosis” into “the day we got engaged”. I needed to tell them and they were all so nice to me. I needed these four men so much during that time. Nobody in my entire life has ever made me laugh harder or more often than the four men in the Copy Club, as we called ourselves. We spent eight hours a day together, in close proximity to one another. Working with them was exactly like working in an improvisational theater group and I’m not sure I can ever really convey to them how much all of that laughter helped me through those horrid times.

After “playing” with Brian and Joe tonight, I walked with them to the Boston Common where the three of us went our separate ways, Brian to the red line, Joe to the green line and me through the common and the public garden. I still did not know where I was headed. I was just wandering aimlessly, enjoying the chill in the air and the gloomy beauty of the city. Somehow, I felt warmth inside of me.

I decided to wander up Newbury Street and then jump on the green line at Auditorium Station, ride back into downtown and then out toward Malden,when it occurred to me that Back Bay Station was right around the corner. The realization made me very happy. I had overlooked that side of the orange line and almost dragged out my commute home by another forty minutes.

About and hour and a half passed before I realized what tonight’s purpose was going to be. I realized that I was nearing the Boston Public Library and remembered that I am on their most wanted list for a $5.00 debt I incurred many months ago when I held onto a book called, “Bobos in Paradise”, the book Chris was reading at his time of death. When I realized the book was due, I brought it to the library, but found that I could not let it go. I explained to the librarian that my husband had passed away and asked if I could check the book back out under my own library card. She shared with me that she also had a family member die of cancer and did me the service of checking out the book in my name. I tried to read it, but all I could do was wonder and imagine what Chris might have been thinking as he read through the pages of the book. Eventually, I placed the novel in a drawer where I thought I would keep it for myself forever.

One day, I woke up and realized it was time to return the book. Chris would not have approved of me keeping a library book. I know he would have wanted that book to be available to all of the other people who would have wanted to read it and who have since read it. It was right to return it. It was right to let it go. It will always be at the library if I ever feel the need to see it, again.

So, tonight I visited the library, once again, and settled my debt. In doing so, I freed myself to borrow books again.

Since Chris died, I have found that the strangest things have become roadblocks for me. Things I never would have thought could be so petrifying have stopped me dead in my tracks, scaring me immobile. Reading had become one of those things. Enjoying a novel is an activity that has become synonymous with disrespecting and dishonoring my husband. How can I enjoy a novel when he is no longer on this earth? What right do I have to enjoy the fine art of escapism? Why do I deserve to escape out of my own mind and body into somebody else’s life when Chris didn’t have that luxury? Until tonight, I had been immobilized by guilt associated with reading a book. How can something so seemingly unrelated to Chris’ death keep me imprisoned for so long? The mind is a very powerful and amazing place.

I knew as soon as I saw the library in the distance tonight that I was about to dislodge another large piece of grief from the wall. As I stated, I paid my debt. I then headed straight for the detective mysteries where I chose and checked out four books. I am no longer frozen in my inability to escape. I am still very afraid and anxiety ridden if I realize that a period of time has passed where I have not thought about or cried for Chris. Time is the only thing that will make those feelings subside, if they ever do.

I believe that today’s giant step forward is a direct result of my recent accomplishment, targeting, creating the opportunity and following through with my plan to sing in front of the orchestra. I proved a lot to myself by embarking upon that task and seeing it through to completion.

Today, over coffee and conversation with Nancy, a very good friend of mine who lost both parents to cancer, I formulated the reason that I now feel capable of setting goals I am passionate about and achieving those goals. Singing is pure passion for me. Performance is pure passion. In a way, each time I surround myself in my passion, I am giving myself a hug, holding onto myself, comforting myself and telling myself that everything is going to be okay now. I did that for Chris for fourteen months and when his life finally came to a close, I could do and feel nothing, only a cold numbness.

Almost nine months have passed since that awful day and I am just beginning to feel that the time has come for me to be hugged, held and cared for. Every time I achieve a goal, hugged is exactly how I feel. I can do it myself for now. I have never been the type of woman who needs a man to give me those things. I’m quite self-sufficient. Now is not the right time, anyway. It’s still too soon. What I have learned over the past nine months and what I continue to teach myself on a daily basis is that I am much, much stronger than I have ever been before and than I ever thought I could be.

I can climb mountains. I can read books. I can overcome grief.