A Testament to How Well I Am Handling My Grief

Last night, after I published my entry, I completely lost all ability to cope with anything pertaining to the last three years of my life. I could no longer deal with Chris’ illness, the diagnosis, his death, my grief or the threat of a new relationship with Marc. All of it seemed a cruel injustice to my memory of Chris.

I needed Chris more than I have ever needed him. I felt my way to the bedroom through my tear-obstructed view and walked straight to my closet, stumbling along the way, broken and dizzy with grief. I needed his trademark jacket and stripey shirt. I needed them. I pulled the articles of clothing off of the rod and sank to my bed, clutching them to my chest, holding onto them as though they were Chris and I could hug them and hold them until I could feel his body, warm with breath inside of them, all the while howling like an injured animal. My body shook with anguish and the tears would not stop coming, nor would the mucus stop running from my nose. I didn’t care. I let it drip to the floor as I sat, once again, completely deflated, defeated and beaten.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror and realized that altering the angle of my reflection allowed me to see Chris there, in my arms. I could creatively combine his jacket and shirt and my jeans and shoes into a whole Chris for me to look at. Needless to say, my little imagination game proved to be disastrous.

I dropped to the floor, tears pouring from my eyes and my body cold with grief, and began speaking through my choked sobs, “Please come back. Please, Creej.” over and over, living only for the moment of his return to me.

I became vaguely aware of myself at that point and turned my prayers to God, chanting from within my broken, deflated, defeated mantra trance, “God, help me. Please help me. I can’t do this. Please help me, God. Please.”

I began to feel traces of calm entering my body, washing over me. I thought of Chris, wondering if he was there with me and God.

The effects of my episode never really left me, last night. I managed to pull myself together enough to pick up the pizza Carol had ordered and bring it to her house for dinner. I couldn’t put Chris’ clothes back in the closet. It just didn’t feel right. I considered wearing them as I used to do when he was alive and during my early days of grief, but somehow, that seemed wrong. Those clothes are sacred items not to be worn around. Eventually, automatically, I lay them out on my bed. I then turned back to the closet and chose my favorite dress, removed it from it’s hanger and lay it atop Chris’ shirt and jacket, wrapping the arms of the jacket around my dress, leaving them, leaving us embracing, a symbol of the two of us and everything I wish could be. I turned and shut off the light, and left the room and my apartment, my eyes all but swollen closed, and drove myself to the pizza place wondering how I was going to walk in with my “junkie” eyes.

I pushed everything out of my mind and sat with Carol, my body still numb with exhaustion, unable to talk or even think about the events of the previous hour.
My body still feels numb from the undoing. Once again, I frightened myself with the sheer intensity of my grief that continues to lurk within the darkest corners of my psyche.

Last night felt dangerous and scary and showed me just how powerful and humbling grief can be.