Griefquake

My husband died almost 4 years ago, and contrary to popular belief, the pain doesn’t go away in one year, in fact, I believe the pain never goes away and that I’m just going to move on with a cavity in my soul for the rest of my life. But that may only be my belief this week, the anniversary week of Chris’ death. God, I hope that’s true, because I can’t feel like this for very long if I intend to continue being the basically happy person I am.

Lucky for me, Carol just called and interrupted my brief but powerful griefquake. Its intensity level exploded off the rector scale.

I answered her call by saying, “Wow. Your social worker senses must have been tingling.” She laughed and asked me if I was having a meltdown. Then we talked and laughed for a while about how my car broke down on the Pike last night and how I called her just to let someone know what was happening. The state police couldn’t find me, so I waited two hours for them to locate and push my car to the breakdown lane. Ugh. Then I waited another hour for the tow truck. Not surprisingly, I remained calm and upbeat throughout the entire experience.

Experiencing the death of a soul mate has changed my entire perspective on life. Being imprisoned within my car on the Pike for three hours is hardly a daunting experience by comparison. Instead of getting upset, I visited the guy who was broken down ahead of me and we chit-chatted about how thankful we were that we didn’t break down in last week’s snow storm, and that it was reasonably warm out and that the police came and that the tow truck was on the way. Life is all about choices.

True, I did not choose to be widowed, but an endless supply of choices are always at my disposal. I did not choose to be sucked into a whirlpool of grief this morning, but I did choose to answer the phone when I saw it was Carol calling. I knew I’d feel better after talking with her.

Choices.

I get it, God.

I was just reminded of an Alanis Morrisette song from a bazillion years ago. The song’s lyrics always had a strong impact on me, even more so, now.

You Learn

I recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone
I recommend walking around naked in your living room
Swallow it down (what a jagged little pill)
It feels so good (swimming in your stomach)
Wait until the dust settles

You live you learn
You love you learn
You cry you learn
You lose you learn
You bleed you learn
You scream you learn

I recommend biting off more then you can chew to anyone
I recommend sticking your foot in your mouth at any time
Throw it down (the caution blocks you from the wind)
Hold it up (to the rays)
You wait and see when the smoke clears

Wear it out (the way a three-year-old would do)
Melt it down (you're gonna have to eventually anyway)
The fire trucks are coming up around the bend

You grieve you learn
You choke you learn
You laugh you learn
You choose you learn
You pray you learn
You ask you learn
You live you learn

During my griefquake, I cried, I called Chris a fucking asshole for getting cancer and leaving me alone. I swore I would never feel as much in love with anybody else as I felt with him. I felt that love, again, and then I felt the exact reflection of that love in blackened, rotting hatred toward him.

And now I have emerged from the darkness back into the light and I’m looking forward to enjoying Jonathan’s presence over dinner, this evening.