The sadness that has been my companion continues to haunt me, but I became proactive and did some things today that make me feel better. I had forgotten something that I wrote about early on when I first began this blog: "When someone is grieving a deep loss, there is a period of time when psychology finds itself rather helpless. The pain of a death. . . .can trigger a paralysis that is not easy to reach into and dissolve. Psychology admits to limits here. Sometimes I think the poets and novelists are of more use in this than is pyschology. But, even there, they can offers some insight but I am not sure anyone can dc muchto take away the pain. There are some things in life befrore which we simply stand helpless." And, "To overcome grief after a loss, try to love." This was way back on January 11. The first, long quote is from a psychologist named Antoine Vergot. The second quote about trying love is from Fr. Ron Nolheiser. Two things now jump out at me in those quotes, the first has to do with simply standing helpless. Sometimes, before we can regain a sense of power and control, we must admit our powerlessness. This is certainly one of the "secrets" beneath the success of Alcoholics Anonymous. The second has to do with the assertion that love will win out over grief in the end.
One of the arborvitae trees that I planted in the back yard last fall is having trouble growing, and much of it is ugly brown and yellow. I trimmed it, and it is no longer an eyesore. Gwen's garden needed some weeding; I made her proud by doing it. The lilac bushes were covered with dead blossoms, I removed all of them. The big windows in the living room needed to be washed--not anymore. It felt good to do productive things.
Later in the afternoon I met a friend from the bereavement group I attended early this year and we took a walk in Gallup Park and just talked about that awful feeling of helplessness in the face of the finality of death. Somehow, just acknowledging that with someone who is going through the the same thing I am is healing in and of itself. I had forgotten that. At the conclusion of our walk we drove over to St. Mary Student Parish where we knew that a Mass was being said in memory of another friend's husband. Today's date was significant because it was their wedding anniversary. She was surprised and so pleased to see us waiting for her when she came into church. Having gone through that whole wedding anniversary pain just a week ago, it felt good to know that Marie would not be alone. I had forgotten; one of the best ways to deal with the loss of someone whom I so deeply loved and who shared that love with me is to make that love real and alive again by sharing it. At the part of the Mass where we exchanged greetings of peace Marie hugged me and said, "I love you, John." It made me feel more whole to hear those words spoken aloud; I know that Gwen and I said them often, especially during her final days. And it didn't have to be words; the way we treated each other was a constant affirmation of our love. Just remembering all that has made me feel better.
The poetry, for me, is an important part of all this. I'm working on a couple but they aren't ready to be set free yet. It is encouraging to know that the words are once again beginning to appear.
I see your hand in this, Dear, our love does go on.
One of the arborvitae trees that I planted in the back yard last fall is having trouble growing, and much of it is ugly brown and yellow. I trimmed it, and it is no longer an eyesore. Gwen's garden needed some weeding; I made her proud by doing it. The lilac bushes were covered with dead blossoms, I removed all of them. The big windows in the living room needed to be washed--not anymore. It felt good to do productive things.
Later in the afternoon I met a friend from the bereavement group I attended early this year and we took a walk in Gallup Park and just talked about that awful feeling of helplessness in the face of the finality of death. Somehow, just acknowledging that with someone who is going through the the same thing I am is healing in and of itself. I had forgotten that. At the conclusion of our walk we drove over to St. Mary Student Parish where we knew that a Mass was being said in memory of another friend's husband. Today's date was significant because it was their wedding anniversary. She was surprised and so pleased to see us waiting for her when she came into church. Having gone through that whole wedding anniversary pain just a week ago, it felt good to know that Marie would not be alone. I had forgotten; one of the best ways to deal with the loss of someone whom I so deeply loved and who shared that love with me is to make that love real and alive again by sharing it. At the part of the Mass where we exchanged greetings of peace Marie hugged me and said, "I love you, John." It made me feel more whole to hear those words spoken aloud; I know that Gwen and I said them often, especially during her final days. And it didn't have to be words; the way we treated each other was a constant affirmation of our love. Just remembering all that has made me feel better.
The poetry, for me, is an important part of all this. I'm working on a couple but they aren't ready to be set free yet. It is encouraging to know that the words are once again beginning to appear.
I see your hand in this, Dear, our love does go on.
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