Between the this morning’s comment left by my lovely friend, Pad, and the comment I posted in response, I might be able to hope that I can clearly convey what grief is like for me at this stage of the game. Chris has been deceased for a little over ten months and despite my postings here, which I write mostly at night, when I am much too tired to combat my growing sadness, I am actually doing very well moving forward.
One of my fears is that anyone who reads my journal will judge me and anyone who doesn’t really know me will think that I am a complete basket case who can do little more than sit on my couch and fall apart every moment of every day. I am not that woman. I am strong, resilient, determined and fun-loving. I just happen to get tired at night and feel suffocated by the solitude in which I find myself.
I have to admit, these dual states in which I find myself make me feel as though I am living a double life. I am both celebrating and grieving simultaneously living a pseudo Jekyl and Hyde existence.
My problem, as of late, is that I have three anniversaries coming up and they are seriously messing with my psyche.
Chris’ birthday is November 23. His birthdays were always special to me because I loved trying to find a perfect gift that would make his face light up. With Chris, it was a challenge. Neither of us liked to spend a lot of money on each other. Sometimes we did, but not usually. Usually, we went out, had a beer together (or wine) and toasted to how much we loved each other. That’s a much more special and personalized way to celebrate, I think. I’m glad that’s how we celebrated.
On Chris’ last couple of birthdays, I scored big when I bought him, first, a hand strengthener for guitarists so he could exercise his hand in order to more effectively play. The following year, I bought him a five-dollar shower radio. He had been talking about how he used to have one and how he loved listening to NPR in the morning while showering. His entire face lit up when he saw it and when I ever told him that it cost us only five dollars, he was so excited that he exclaimed, “Sweet, Shneed! Good job!”
Last year, I bought him a red cardigan sweater that was much too big for him. Chris liked his clothes to be much too big. When he opened it he looked at me and said, “Shneed. You always get me what I want. Thank you. That means a lot to me.” That reaction, to me, was worth every saved penny. It took some doing for me to get used to saving as much as possible instead of spending more to convey my love. My brother now owns and wears the red cardigan with thoughts of Chris in his mind.
Thanksgiving is going to be interesting this year. I am going to Hadley to be with my family on Chris’ side. We’re not going to do anything traditional. The holiday was Chris’ favorite and Bonnie is quite certain that she cannot be surrounded in holiday food or spirits this year. We both agree that just being together is what we want to do. At least we will all be patient with one another and completely non-judgmental. I have a feeling this Thanksgiving is going to be okay.
Christmas is coming shortly after that. I am not going to say much about it, yet. Just that Christmas Day is the day I rushed Chris to the hospital because he could no longer deal with the physical pain of his condition.
With all of these impending anniversaries, I feel as though breaking down and collapsing into a grief-heap every single night of my life is pretty tame compared to what could be happening. I’m just riding it out.
2003 was tough. 2004 was tougher. 2005 was horrendous. 2006 holds hope and a possible improvement, or at least a considerable mending of my heart and soul.
Until that happens, I will continue to get through the best I can, laugh as much as I can, enrich my life as much as I can and do what I can to enrich the lives of those around me.
Jekyl and Hydedly,
Shneed.
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