My relationship with Jonathan continues to grow in many wonderful ways. I enjoy being in his arms and talking with him, holding him and just knowing he’s there.
Anxiety has not been absent from my mind and body, however, and I find myself needing to step back -- just a few paces -- now and again, in order to process my new love relationship. All in all, things are going very well. We have wonderful times together. I need to process, and I hope he doesn’t leave because I sometimes need to be with my own thoughts. I haven’t explained any of this to him, because there really is no need to open this door in his life. Grief is a part of my life, not his.
I spent the day with Bonnie, Beth and the girls today (Chris’ mom, sister and 10-year-old nieces, Emily and Hannah) and now I just need to be by myself. Jonathan said he understands, and I believe him, but I still feel a bit guilty about my choice. We’ll see each other next, Friday evening.
Meanwhile, I try to breathe in Jonathan and breathe out Chris, figuratively speaking. I’m no longer in love wth a dead man. I am now falling in love with a wonderful man who is very much alive. I want my life to consist of a partnership between Jonathan and me, and even though I have snagged my sock on a big old clump of grief-induced anxiety, I know I will overcome, and very soon. Two steps forward, one step back and so on.
After our trip to the Museum of Science, I took Bonnie, Beth and the girls to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. Hannah began to cry. When we asked her what was wrong, she could barely choke out the words, “I’m going to miss Grammie.” She was exhausted, and she became upset that if she fell asleep, nobody would wake her up to say goodbye to Bonnie (Grammie). In my mind, I formlated an idea that perhaps she was expressing her sadness for losing Chris, Howard and Edna and possibly her fear of losing Bonnie. I told the story to Jonathan. Now, here in my room with my own thoughts -- one Ativan to the wind -- I realize that I was really trying to convey my own fear of loss to Jonathan. All this time I thought I was afraid of letting go of Chris, but now I see that I have already let go of my dear husband and that my real fear lies in letting go of myself, again.
I don’t quite know how I’m going to do that. I only know that I’m going to do it.
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It's interesting that you see the grief as part of your life, and emphatically not his. I guess in my (admittedly brief) experience, I feel like the grief is part of me, and therefore will be part of the relationship. Of course, it should be (and is) a fairly small part, but I do not know that I can separate the two. I have asked him if I talk about J too much (he says I don't). I have shared with him when I have been having a tough time (although I have not yet cried in front of him). I guess I just always thought of the grief as part of the 'package' in dating me. Maybe as I get further out I will rethink this.
ReplyDeleteI don't know, DM. It isn't that I don't want to share my experience with him, or that I don't want to have somebody else close to me who understands that I still hurt a lot. In many ways, I'm confused (and scared) about how much of the past needs to stay there and how much I can talk about my past in the present.
ReplyDeleteI mean, I still talk about my elementary school days. I still ramble on incessantly about high school band and what I did with my friends in junior high school. Nobody seems to mind that (too much). It's the whole "taboo" surrounding death.
Part of me really wants to blow it right the fuck out of the water and just put it all out there.
I suppose, at this precise moment, I'm still undecided, and my relationship is still so new.
Thank you for posting. I learn something good every time you do. :)