Marking the Days – 7 Months

I made it past the seven-month date. I seems these anniversaries have become days of reflection for me – wait – every day is a day of reflection for me. So what is it about these monthly markings? They somehow have power – I give them that power by thinking about the date. I actually missed a couple of the month-versaries earlier on; I was in such a state of fog and numbness. But as I get further away from Dave’s death, they have gained more power.

My seven-month day was filled with good things – I took my grade 5 class hiking in the mountains with many parents participating. It was a beautiful autumn day – mild, sunny, little wind. The leaves and grasses were all aglow in colour, the blue sky a sharp contrast to the yellows, golds and greens of the mountain the forest. The rocky peaks had a scattering of snow. We hiked along a creek for about 3 km. The sound of the running water, the smell of the forest, the sound of happy children’s voices were all food for the soul. I had so much fun at the lead with several of the boys behind me rallying to be first in line. Their banter and antics were so very entertaining to me. We stopped along the way to have lunch, to climb rocks and boulders, to cross the creek and explore. The hike culminated at a waterfall that was hidden by the rock cliffs. We relied on our ears to tell us that a waterfall was “back there”.

After school, I was able to get my plans for the next few days done and then I went home to change and meet Dave’s Mom and Auntie M. The three of us are widows. The three of us have been deeply affected by Dave’s death. The three of us admire and respect each other. We had a lovely dinner together during which we raised a glass in Dave’s honour.

Then, tired and worn out by the day, the week, the year. . . . I went home to bed. There, my aloneness hit me. It seems the further I get away from Dave’s actual parting, the stronger the reality that I am alone becomes. I wept as I went to sleep and now, Saturday morning I weep again. My thought is, “what do I do now?” I have no idea. So for now, I will live as best I can, try to look after myself, do my best at work and mark the days.

The Grumpy Phase of Grief

I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time fitting my grief into any formula of phases and linear progression. Most ‘experts’ agree that grief takes its own route for each of us. I am currently in my Grumpy Phase. I have been waiting for the infamous Angry Phase, not sure that I wouldn’t explode if it arrived. My sadness has been so profound, that my anger might be outright dangerous! But the anger is quite mild, making me a grumpy old cow. The f-word is on the tip of my tongue 24/7. I am so tired of people’s trite and cliqued remarks and their assumptions about how I am or especially about how I should be. I am tired of the importance of nonsense and trivia in the world and our day-to-day lives. I find life trite and futile. I don’t see the f’n point in any of this shit. I hate getting up in the morning, I hate the routine of self care – the grocery shopping, the cooking, the cleaning etc etc, I hate going to work and pretending that it is all so interesting and purposeful. I hate coming home to where Dave is not and I hate going to bed and falling asleep alone. Maybe this really is my Hate Phase!? But it comes out as grumpy. I humph and harrumph through my days. I nod and smile. I answer the damn question, “How ARE you?” I pretend I am over it because that is what people want, but i am still so torn up inside and so shattered. I want to tell everyone to go away and leave me alone. But I don't like being alone much at all. I dislike life. I have no plans and dreams for the future – they all died with Dave. And it all just makes me so damn grumpy.

A Tried and True Motto

I haven’t written in several weeks. I am somewhat paralyzed. I haven’t been calling people, emailing or writing. There are a couple of reasons that this has happened. The first is that I have gone back to work and that takes up a lot of time. I am tired after a full day with 22 ten-year-olds! The second is that I have fallen into a depression. I find that I am able to leave the sadness at the door when I get to school and I can be upbeat and have fun with the children. I did major in Drama after all, and children really do bring me a lot of joy. But the sadness is still there, waiting for me, when I leave. It seems I cry on the way to work and I cry on the way home. I guess this isn’t too surprising. I have suffered from depression in the past and I still am a grieving widow.

Really, these two reasons are connected. Getting back to ‘regular’ life has intensified my sadness. Now I really miss Dave. This is the life I lived with him for several years, before he was subjected to that insidious, disgusting disease called cancer. My life then was: going to work from 7 to 5 and sharing the rest of my time with Dave. So now, I go to work from 7 to 5 and the rest of my life is empty. He is not here and though I am truly trying to move on and be optimistic, positive and hopeful, I really am sad and lonely and lost without him.

The mornings of cursing the fact that I have woken up have returned. The gray shadow has descended. I feel that I have regressed - I am once again ‘holing’ up in my bedroom, crying and staring at the ceiling. Not much of the world outside my door interests me.

Once again I find a little solace in the motto that I adopted 25 years ago, when my children were toddlers: This too shall pass.