Valley Girl

I have hit another snag. I suppose the decline in my level of cheer is apparent when I look back over the past few entries I have posted. I have come to respect the valleys within the grief process along with the mountains, and I just keep marching forward.

Mostly, I feel heavy-hearted. Once again, I have begun losing interest in doing anything. Up until yesterday, when I spent eight hours catching up on the schoolwork I had let fall by the wayside, I had pretty much stopped doing everything. I feel as though I don’t enjoy singing, but I know grief so well these days that I know it isn’t true. I’m just depressed, again. I have plans tonight and I don’t want to go, but I know I’ll be sad if I stay in.

I went to the gym last night and worked out vigorously. On the way home I began crying, as I sometimes do after an evening of pushing my mind and body past their limits. At the gym, I looked at the trainer and wondered what it’s like for him to know he has a wife to go home to. I wondered what it’s like for her to be eagerly awaiting his return. I remember feeling that way every time Chris was out. When I begin to think in those patterns I become very sad and lonely for Chris, and I cry.

Once home, I sat on my sofa in front of the TV, laptop in lap, chamomile tea in hand and a red delicious apple, sliced into chips, on the coffee table waiting to be devoured. I began to feel better.

When I got tired enough to turn in, I moved the party (of one) into the bedroom and fell asleep. An hour later, I awoke with a start. I thought of Chris and the fact that he died and I instantly cried out, “No.” I had to shake my head a few times to get the image of his illness out of my mind. It returned for a follow-up ambush. I sat up. My tears came, and I sat atop my bed in the darkness pining for Chris to come back.

I thought I felt his essence around me and the words, “I’m right here.” entered my mind as though they were not my own, and I took comfort in them. The words, I decided, were Chris’ words to me, calming me, loving me, assuring me that this life is not forever, that we will not always be separated.