Two Years of a Two-Year Sentence Served

When I think about the fact that Chris died two whole years ago, I feel scared. How can two years have passed? How can my life be piecing itself back together? How can I get through my days more easily and not be crying as much as I used to? Finally, how can I ever be free, completely free, from the guilt of moving on? No amount of logic seems to alleviate the guilt-generated nervousness in the pit of my stomach.

I can already feel that 2007 is going to be a good year for forward movement in my life. I have one more two-year anniversary date to get through, my wedding anniversary, before I am past the year of seconds, which in no way means I have finished experiencing the last of the firsts.

At the urging of one of my friends, I attended the Ellis Paul concert at Club Passim last night. My decision to attend came too late for me to order tickets to the late show, but nonetheless, Ellis rocked...or “folked” as it were. I guess he “folk rocked.”

Focusing on the music was a challenge last night as my mind peridocially wandered back in time throughout the evening. I missed entire blocks of the music set, remembering how Chris and I met, how he introduced me to the world of folk music and how we enjoyed romantic evenings out at venues similar to Passim. The festive holiday lights which regularly ornament the walls of the room reminded me of Chris. The view out the windows brought me back to a time when I was one-half of an “us.” Ellis’ lyrics messed with my moods, causing me to toggle back and forth between elation and destruction.

I was home by ten and in bed by eleven-thirty.

Today’s rain lent an entirely appropriate backdrop to the anniversary of the worst period of my life. I was happy to see the dismal weather system looming outside the panes of my living room window. Maybe by this time next year I will be ready for the sun.

I am trying. I still have to try. Nothing comes naturally, yet.

Last night, I donned Chris’ brown cordorouy jacket, my fabric hug, and I curled up on my bed and cried, telling him I love him, that I always have and that I wish he hadn’t died. I wore the embrace for a while before I sat up, and then I returned the textile remnant of my husband to its hanger along with his pajama bottoms, boxer shorts, ties, Red Sox t-shirt and stripey “Australian girlfriend” jersey. Those are the clothes I kept for myself as remembrances of the deepest love I have ever felt.

The year 2007 is going to be all about courage. Courage to move forward, courage to find love again, and courage to fully engage in my life, grounded in the truth that this is, indeed, my life and no longer a life I share with Chris.

This past Saturday, I took an introductory boxing lesson at a boxing club and absolutely loved my session. I am now gearing up for membership. Nothing, to date, has alleviated my anger and anxiety more than punching a bag and hitting the mits in the ring while I followed the trainer’s shoulted commands, “One! Two, one! One, two, three!”, concentrating on form, footwork and cardio endurance. I arrived home with the usual endorphin rush, amplified by the most pronounced feeling of relaxation I have ever experienced before and after Chris.

2007 is going to bring change and my life is going to become beautiful, again. I am going to punch my way out of prison this year.