Rivers and Life

I don’t know what to write or how to bring what is in my mind to the surface. That’s how my grief has been going for the past couple of weeks. I don’t even know where to start. I guess this is some protective built-in aspect of my brain. I want to be able to clearly convey how this week has been affecting me and I’m hoping that by turning on the computer and freestyle writing, something of use will emerge.

This past weekend, I visited a subset of the Vermonters (Bec, Rick, Bridget, AJ, Breanna), a group of friends Chris met at St. Michael’s College in Vermont during his undergrad days. He liked taking time to visit them periodically. They were his college buddies and he cherished the time they spent together, drinking, getting high, watching the Sox, listening to music, laughing and playing cards. Chris preferred going to visit them by himself. This was something he considered to be his own and once he convinced me that he still loved me, even though he wanted Vermont all to himself, it worked out quite well for both of us. We each got our time away from each other, which made us so happy to see each other when we were together.

I hadn’t been to see them since Chris died. I just couldn’t go. My grief was too great and I was clinging to my reluctance the way cats cling to screen doors. For a year and a half, I couldn't face it. Then suddenly, I could, so I did.

We had fun. Our weekend comprised dinner, brunch, drinks, lunch, canoeing and cards. Canoeing was my favorite part. Bridget told me a story about Chris which I hadn’t heard before. Once, when they all went canoeing together, she and Chris were paddling in the same boat. “Burrage’s” (as she calls him) paddling was causing the canoe to spin around in circles and once the two of them gained control and straightened out the boat, Chris turned to her and said, “We will never speak of this to anyone.” That was my Chris. I felt as though I had been there and witnessed the entire scene. It made me smile and it made me feel as though he was there with all of us. And then it made me sad.

Bridget equated the river to life, saying that we were sitting in boats being carried down the river, passing things by. If we stood in the water, it would continue rushing right past us, just like life...or something to that effect. I’m sure I haven’t captured most of what she intended to convey, but I found it to be quite profound.

We walked on the boardwalk one of the days. Me, Bec, AJ, Rick, Bridget, Finn and Emmett. AJ had worn the Red Sox baseball shirt I gave him after Chris died. It was a gray Curt Schilling shirt with blue sleeves and I bought it for Chris as a celebratory gift when he had finished his chemo treatments. I thought he deserved to celebrate. We were both so happy that he was finished and we looked forward to continuing our life together. He loved the shirt. It was weird because I found that it was very tempting and easy to squint my eyes and imagine that Chris was walking the boardwalk with me.

During lunch, I had gotten up to use the ladies room and when I returned to my table, I sat down next to an empty chair and thought, “Oh. Chris must have gone to.....” before I caught myself. In some bizarre way, I thought for a few seconds that he was there with us and that he had just gone to the mens room.

Both evenings I spent at Bec’s were nice. I kept a picture of chris on my night stand and I fell asleep gripping the guitarist’s hand strengthener I had bought him for his birthday when we lived in Los Angeles. I had forgotten all about it. It was in one of the boxes I brought with me to give to his friends and when I saw it, I needed to take it back. Chris always loved what I bought him for his birthday. Buying gifts for him created a contest in which I competed against myself to find what he wanted most for as little money as possible. That’s what made him happy. He always loved the gift but he loved finding out that I spent seven dollars on the guitar hand strengthener or three dollars on the Gilligan-style Red Sox hat. That’s what really made him happy.

Both nights, I cried myself to sleep, troubled by flashes of Chris being there, flashes of his illness, flashes of the realization that he is dead, all followed by desperate denial and tears. Nobody knew. I just took the time to grieve in the privacy of the guest room, wondering if Chris had ever slept in the bed I was sleeping in this past weekend. In Bec’s jeep on the way back from canoeing, I was also choking back tears. I just feel so lonely for him sometimes and it just didn’t seem fair that he wasn’t there with us. It didn’t feel fair that I was there, at all, because if Chris was alive, I wouldn’t have been. He would have wanted to go there alone. All of it seemed so unfair. All of it is so unfair.

Today I had a very nice day with Bonnie. We walked around downtown Amherst, had lunch at Judy’s and shopped a little bit. The day was beautiful and I felt warmth between us. I was happy to be with her.

This was my first solo trip in my life. I made the schedule, I drove to Vermont by myself and then to Keene and to Hadley and now I’m back in Boston for a day before I take off to Portland, Maine. I have never done anything like this. I feel free and self sufficient.

Tomorrow, I have a session with Clay. I hope I can convey my thoughts to him more clearly than I have conveyed them here. It’s difficult sometimes when my brain doesn’t want to face the pain.

If I could have anything in the world, I would want my Creej, healthy and happy, back in my life and a second chance for the two of us to be together.