What's inconceivable to me is how life keeps on going. Outside my bubble, my protected nest, all that was set in motion before Y's illness and death is happening. My novel is still getting published. His donated photos are still selling as a 2011 calendar. People are going to work and shopping. In truth, only my world, my day to day journey, has been affected. There are many who think of him and me, I'm sure, but they have to attend to their responsibilities. My son, Spence, admitted how easy it was for him to immerse himself in his job, his basketball team, and especially his four-month-old daughter's smiles; all of it easing his loss.
I learned something from him, and I tried this tactic yesterday. I made lists and chose one task, just to see if I could focus on something outside the pressure in my chest. I applied sealer to the deck railings. Sun rippled through the trees. A soft breeze teased the flowers blooming in the redwood planters. Blue jays cawed. At first I was only going to do two small outside sections, but, after accomplishing that small bit, I started the inside portion behind the planters which were the hardest to reach. I wanted to reposition the newly-planted flowers then redo the drip system, eventually.
I thought to stop there and do something else but decided to change my pattern of dancing from one project to the next. Instead, I painted until I ran out of sealer, a much different ending point for me.
When I was done, I was hungry for the first time in days, so I cleaned the brushes while my husband's voice whispered in my ear, “Not done until you finish the paperwork.” I could smile instead of cry and move on to the next task without being stopped in my tracks by a memory.
And so it went, one small job after another. I got through the day, until bedtime, when there were no diversions; where life stopped and past memories and future fears took over.
Laying in bed, I pushed my attention out the open window, into the night, and heard an infrequent croak of a groggy frog, the soft call of an owl, and I was reassured about life going on in a darkness which would only last until the sun came up again.
Dear Earlene...
ReplyDeleteI am reading a book on Grieving right now...entitled 'Safe Passage' by Molly Fumia...one entry reminded me of you.
"Long ago we were taught to ignore grief rather than enter into it. Simply to hang on mindlessly until it is over.
But this old precept cannot bear the weight of profound experience. Neat categories cannot accomodate the muddle of mature emotion. To get through grief, we let go rather than hang on, watching for the inner counselor who will guide us, ever mindful of the process that will slowly, patiently lead us where we need to go."
It sounds like you are very much listening to your inner counselor and following your Heart's Song, which will bring you to the healing place you want to embrace when you are ready. I see and hear a strong woman, with gentle and soft footsteps making her way, one step at a time, toward that.
I find you an example of true inner beauty in this incredibly hard time of loss.
Blessings Earlene...and I really mean that!
Keeping you in my thoughts and prayertime...