Yesterday was a wonderful day. The grief gods must have noticed; they smacked me down pretty good this morning. I should have known, they woke me at 5:00 a. m. This is not going to be a good day. I made the bed, sat on the edge of it, and felt the waves of sadness overtake me. I ask myself how this can be; I'm doing all the right things--taking golf and singing lessons, seeing a psychologist twice a month, getting out and doing things, taking part in support groups and services. So why was it that this morning I sat there on the bed it all seemed so pointless? I didn't have to think about these things when my perfect partner was with me, making life meaningful and interesting. Deep in my heart I know that I have so much to be grateful for; loving children, sisters and brothers, Gwen's brother and sister, cherished friends in Ann Arbor, for goodness sake, even Gwen's high school friends reach out to me. I try never to take any of that for granted. On mornings like today all that seems to matter is that Gwen should be there with me; it's an empty, aching, feeling of loss and being lost. Then I remember my promise to Gwen that I would keep on living and growing after she was gone. That was so easy to do a year ago; I had convinced myself that it wasn't going to happen for a long, long time, then, suddenly it seemed, one day there wasn't another day with her. Now that what wasn't going to happen has happened I must live up to the promise I made to Gwen--some days, like today, I just don't want to do it; I don't know how else to describe it or define it. But, I'll do it.
Today I did do a lot to fulfill my promise to keep growing. I had my singing lesson in the morning, then lunch with an old friend, mow the lawn, and, in the evening I attended a Mass being said for Gwen's intention. Finally, I had long talk with a widowed friend from the hospice bereavement group that I attended. So, why do I keep looking at Gwen's chair, hoping I'll see her there? Much as the long, grey, cold days of winter were difficult; these beautiful early summer days bring their own contradictions. There is so much more to miss; long after dinner walks, watching Max frolic around on the shore of Lake Superior, a quiet time on the deck with a cup of coffee. It keeps coming back to the ugly, brutal finality of death.
We'll get through this together, Dear, as we always did. Sometimes it is darkest just before dawn.
Today I did do a lot to fulfill my promise to keep growing. I had my singing lesson in the morning, then lunch with an old friend, mow the lawn, and, in the evening I attended a Mass being said for Gwen's intention. Finally, I had long talk with a widowed friend from the hospice bereavement group that I attended. So, why do I keep looking at Gwen's chair, hoping I'll see her there? Much as the long, grey, cold days of winter were difficult; these beautiful early summer days bring their own contradictions. There is so much more to miss; long after dinner walks, watching Max frolic around on the shore of Lake Superior, a quiet time on the deck with a cup of coffee. It keeps coming back to the ugly, brutal finality of death.
We'll get through this together, Dear, as we always did. Sometimes it is darkest just before dawn.
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