This morning I attended the monthly meeting of the bereavement group that was begun by Arbor Hospice and now continues to meet on our own; thanks in large part to Carl's leadership. It is good to be with a group of people with a common experience, that of losing a spouse. It isn't necessary to be two people there; I always feel much more congruent and accepted simply because I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not. This isn't an indictment of "the rest of the world." Our family, friends and relatives all have matters that concern them greatly, and we couldn't expect them to share our unique sense of loss. So. . . we don the mask, act like everything is OK, and, in some ways it is. There's a saying in AA groups, "Fake it until you make it." That's how it seems to be with most of us. There was no need to fake anything in the group this morning. At one point I just looked around at the people there and experienced an immense feeling of gratitude.
Although Ed and I played a round of golf this evening, most of today was spent getting packed for my upcoming trip. Sometimes I catch myself acting a lot like Gwen; I feel as though I have to pack everything I own, she was the master of that, and we kidded her about it endlessly. Then, I have to remind myself that I will be gone for less than a month, and there will be laundromats along the way. Tomorrow I will get the car packed, and then be ready to leave early Thursday morning. I packed a tent and sleeping bag, and have this notion that I may want to spend some time alone at a campsite, preferably at the ocean. Maybe I won't have a chance to do that, but I'll be prepared. Today I took a break and screwed up my courage and watched a DVD of some family tapes that Dick, in his generous way, prepared for me. One of them in particular was one I hadn't seen before of a camping trip we took with John and Elise. Seeing Gwen as she was 20 years ago, hearing her voice, how happy she was and how much fun we were having: a confirmation that the love we shared was as real as I remember it to be. Sure, I cried a little, but also took the time to be grateful for what we had. In one part of the tape we were eating s'mores around a campfire, and John Gerich uttered his famous commentary that they "took away the appetite, but not the hunger." Life was good.
This morning Carl gave us a copy of a quote from Mitch Albom that he had printed: "All endings are beginnings. We just don't know it at the time. . ." It reminded me of something that Marge, another member of the group had said at one of our first meetings when we were sharing pictures of our beloved. What she said was that she doesn't have pictures of who she is now. We are still composing those pictures.
Sometimes, Dear, I remember that you once told me that some day you would miss me dearly. I often find myself taking solace in those words, especially at those times when I miss you so dearly--like right now.
Although Ed and I played a round of golf this evening, most of today was spent getting packed for my upcoming trip. Sometimes I catch myself acting a lot like Gwen; I feel as though I have to pack everything I own, she was the master of that, and we kidded her about it endlessly. Then, I have to remind myself that I will be gone for less than a month, and there will be laundromats along the way. Tomorrow I will get the car packed, and then be ready to leave early Thursday morning. I packed a tent and sleeping bag, and have this notion that I may want to spend some time alone at a campsite, preferably at the ocean. Maybe I won't have a chance to do that, but I'll be prepared. Today I took a break and screwed up my courage and watched a DVD of some family tapes that Dick, in his generous way, prepared for me. One of them in particular was one I hadn't seen before of a camping trip we took with John and Elise. Seeing Gwen as she was 20 years ago, hearing her voice, how happy she was and how much fun we were having: a confirmation that the love we shared was as real as I remember it to be. Sure, I cried a little, but also took the time to be grateful for what we had. In one part of the tape we were eating s'mores around a campfire, and John Gerich uttered his famous commentary that they "took away the appetite, but not the hunger." Life was good.
This morning Carl gave us a copy of a quote from Mitch Albom that he had printed: "All endings are beginnings. We just don't know it at the time. . ." It reminded me of something that Marge, another member of the group had said at one of our first meetings when we were sharing pictures of our beloved. What she said was that she doesn't have pictures of who she is now. We are still composing those pictures.
Sometimes, Dear, I remember that you once told me that some day you would miss me dearly. I often find myself taking solace in those words, especially at those times when I miss you so dearly--like right now.
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