Reflection on an anniversary of sorts

Two years ago, sometime during the night, my world changed dramatically. It's not that it was a totally unexpected change; it had been foreseen long before yet that morning I had awakened to the usual thought of "Is today the day?" Normally at night the answer would have come, "No, not today," but two years ago I went to bed with the same answer only to receive a different one when I awakened the next morning. I got the answer, "Yes, today is the day."

No matter how expected, it was still a difficult time. While I didn't feel as fogged as I had anticipated, I still found it overwhelming. There was so much to take care of, so many things that needed to be done, so many things to go through and so many decisions to make. Even my old standby of "take one small step to the next thing that needs doing" didn't help as well as I'd experienced before. My two best friends kept reminding me, "Just remember to breathe" and sometimes even that seemed overwhelming. The tiny things got easier but the bigger things still loomed, daunting in their complexity and frightening in their uncertainty. Again, people helped to get me moving in the right direction, some opportunities came that I hadn't anticipated and so here I am, two years later, looking back at a time I would never want to relive again.

Despite my uncertainty and, at times, timidity, I found that I had learned some things, done some growing, and had some experiences that I had never had before and some I hadn't had for years. From the smaller things, like learning to shop and cook for one instead of two and how to cope with locking the keys in the truck without being able to call for someone to bring the extra set to the biggies like buying and moving into a new residence or deciding where and when to get major truck repairs done, it took some doing but I did it. Sure, there were lots of friends again to help, a wider pool than I had imagined, and with their help, I did it.

A book I'm reading, George A. Bonanno's The Other Side of Sadness, has been giving me things to think about that I'd never really considered. One is that what may be perceived as a normal method of grieving, even a well-known and accepted one such as Kubler-Ross's five stages, is not necessarily prescriptive or normative. In TV police dramas, law officers called to the scene of a dead body, even one lying in bed, often express feeling if not direct words about having to take a closer look at the widow because she just doesn't act like someone who'd just lost their husband or who had just found her husband dead on the floor. By the same token, there's always suspicion if there is too much emotion flowing around, like it's a put-on job designed to hide something nefarious. What's normal for one is quite abnormal for someone else. Thank heaven the police who came to my house were kind and courteous as were the paramedics and the coroner's investigator.

Another thing I learned from the book is that it's not just okay to laugh or find things amusing so soon after a death or traumatic event, it's quite common -- and very healthy. Life goes on, no matter how great the loss. People in New York after 9/11 got on with their lives, some sooner than others and some a little more successfully than others but people did get on with life. Katrina was another horrific event that changed lives forever yet for most, even if it meant transplantation or struggle to maintain even a modicum of normalcy, yet people used music, community, faith and laughter to get through an unimaginable situation.  If they can do it and get through the tough times, then surely it must be okay. I could smile the first day but it was a little forced. It got easier over the coming days, for the most part, and I could enjoy joking around or enjoying a laugh with friends and family fairly quickly.

The major lesson I've learned from the book really isn't something I learned from the book, it just gave me the word I needed to describe how I feel about myself, my life, and the whole shootin' match -- resilient, the ability to bounce back. While I don't see myself hopping around on a trampoline, there have been many times I've felt I couldn't get much lower-- mentally, physically, emotionally or financially -- and survive. It hasn't been pretty, most of the time, and quite often I've felt that I've been lurching from lamp post to lamp post, getting bruised and battered by situations that had to be dealt with, but there have been periods when I felt my head was above water and life could be dealt with if not enjoyed. Being able to put a name to that process helps put it in perspective. Life's not going to be a bed of roses but even when I run into a thorn patch, it can be gotten through.

So here I am, two years on. I still talk to him as if he were in the other seat in the truck or seeing what I'm seeing but that's okay. I still miss coming home and not having to do things he would have done while I was out (like take out the trash). Even though our financial situation was far from totally stable, I still struggle with things like balancing the checkbook or keeping track of what needs to be paid other than regular bills -- like taxes and truck insurance. Those things may never change but I know I can survive if not thrive. I am a widow -- but I am not helpless or hopeless. I grieve - but I am not incapacitated by it.

Since tomorrow I have to go to work and perform as if it were any normal day, I have decided that today will be my day of reflection, of allowing myself to think, feel and review where these past two years have brought me. I will remember but not drown in those memories. I will be good to myself, remember to breathe, take the next small step and give thanks that I am able to do this.

Rest in peace, Ray. In many ways, you'll always be here and I'm glad of that. It's my turn to say "thank you." I know you'll understand that.