Finale in Grief Minor

If today didn’t kill me then nothing will.

As you know (if you read the previous two posts, also written today) I had managed to regulate this morning’s grief reaction with a nice dose of Ativan. Well, today I learned what an Ativan crash feels like.

I first became aware that the effects of this lovely drug had begun to wear off when I was ordered to attend another 2-day offsite and I lacked the proper tools to cope. I was rude to my coworker, the woman who delivered the news (the one battling cancer) and I tried to get her to split the offsite with me and go one day. She became angry, but I suspect that has more to do with her battle than with my attitude. I caught myself, a little too late, and sent her a quick e-mail to apologize for my behavior. I informed her that today was my wedding anniversary and that my emotions were all over the map. She never replied. I’m certain that my grief is small potatoes next to the battle one wages with cancer. You’d think I would have learned a thing or two from my experience with Chris’ battle. I’m ashamed of myself, but I still forgive myself. My grief took me, heart and soul, today.

Bob agreed to meet me at the trees today at 2:45 today. It occurred to me that visiting the trees in time to hear the 3:00 bells toll, just as they did on January 17, 2004, might be a more meaningful tribute to Chris’ and my wedding day. He met me and the two of us just stood talking for a while before we hugged good-bye and went our separate ways. It was really nice to see him and share the moment with him. I cried a little. I asked him for a hug and he complied. I needed to be hugged at my wedding site. It helped.

I then grabbed a cup of coffee and headed back to work, ever so aware of how meaningless this whole world is.

At the end of the day, I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door, feigning smiles at the coworkers I passed on my way out. I could feel my rubber fake-smile mask shifting around on my face even as I engaged in idle chit-chat. The moment I got outside, the battle between me and my tears began. I walked briskly up Summer Street, choking back a grief tidal wave the entire time. I took deep breaths. That helped me hold it together.

I read my book on the train ride and alternated between absorbing the prose and fighting memories of that horrible evening in 2003 when I rode the T, my face buried in a Stephen King novel as I squelched my terror of Chris dying. That train ride memory is one of a handful of memories of terror and grief that are permanently burned into my psyche. Those are the ones that continue to keep me in awe of their power. Those memories, like my grief of this evening, leave me in disbelief of the fact that I bounced back. When I reach grief of such depths, I am certain that I am actually going to hear my brain SNAP. I cannot believe I’m sitting here writing this. By all accounts, I should be sitting in Bellevue, restrained to a chair, rocking back and forth chanting, “I’m married. I’m married. I’m married.”

The second I entered my door I dropped everything on the floor, shed my coat, scarf, hat and sweater, also onto the floor, and crashed onto my couch howling, my face contorted into the very shape of grief. I thrashed, punched my couch over and over again, contemplated scratching my own face again ( I guess I ‘m too vein to actually do it), wished I was the personality type to smash my own head onto my glass coffee table and cried and cried an cried screaming hoarsely into the air and into my blanket. I was out of control.

I went to the bedroom and abused my bed in the same way. I then opened up my storage space, dragged my boxes of Chris’ belongings out and sat on the floor. My grief did not stop. I embraced his bachelors and masters degrees, his 2004 day minder, his baseball glove and ball and the little ceramic music box the JP gave us at our wedding. I screamed about hating my life, hating myself, not wanting to go on, wanting to be with Chris, wanting him to come back and numerous other crazed demanding wishes.

Suddenly, I wanted to watch the DVD of our wedding ceremony. It wasn’t in the box. I began to search my apartment for it but couldn’t find it. I began to become agitated and even more grief-stricken than I am able to describe. I finally found it and sat down on the floor in front of the TV.

Watching that DVD calmed me. I saw us together, getting married, interacting, laughing, loving each other with our eyes. We did love each other. Chris loved me. I could tell by the way he looked at me and by the way he talked with me. I know I loved him, but that expression of love is something I haven’t seen on my own face for what seems like centuries. I no longer know the woman in that wedding scene. I am no longer capable of being that blissful, of exuding such levels of unbridled love. I remembered my devotion to my husband. It’s all there on the DVD. Nobody can deny it.

Try as I might, I am not going to be able to rush myself through my grief. It’s stuck, like glue, to my body and soul.

Still, today’s first was the last first. This is it. His birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas Day, New Years Eve, New Years Day and our anniversary are all behind me, now.

I called my doctor today because I have decided to go back on an antidepressant. My decision was not born of the desire to cheat my way through my grief. Lord knows, I’m tired. Especially after tonight. I have become aware over the past few weeks that I am not doing the things I’m supposed to be doing. I have schoolwork to do. I have a certificate to earn. I have a bachelors degree to finish. I have a cabaret show to design and perform. I have been doing nothing to achieve these goals. I find more and more that I am frozen when it comes to forward movement. The further forward I move, the further I move away from my life with my handsome prince. My brain won’t let me go, so I have to help it to let me go. I have responsibilities to myself and I’m tired of feeling bad about how disorganized my thoughts have been. I don’t think I can recover from another breakdown like tonight’s. So I’m going to begin taking a pill, again, just to help me cope with every day life for a while.

I just want to live my life for a while. Watching our wedding DVD, I have come to believe that there will be no great love in my life again. Chris was it. I can’t imagine looking at another man with even a comparable expression of love to that of the one on my face on our wedding day.

God sent Chris to me. He sent us to each other. He knew Chris needed to learn to trust that somebody could care for him one-hundred percent and he knew that I needed to learn what love was and what it was like to give myself completely to another. Chris learned his lessons and his job was done, so he was given a full pardon from this world. I, on the other hand, apparently have more lessons to learn here, which pisses me off to no end.

I want, so badly, to go be with Chris but that’s not God’s will. I have to stay here and learn whatever it is that God thinks I haven’t learned yet.

I’m exhausted. I’m going to eat something and count the hours until my next session with Clay.