Month 7 Update

Dear Peoples,

I have discovered that there's truly not much difference between Month #6 and Month #7, only in what "first's" were experienced. I suspect that #8 through 11 months will be similar, too. Nevertheless, I'm at #7, on the other side of the "first year hill." As a wise friend said, the first year is full of "firsts." Sorta obvious when I step back and think about it, but emotionally consoling when I am in the midst of one. There should be firsts going on. Right? It's the first year. Right? So, this is all my "new normal." Right?

I went on my first trip out of state this month, visiting a dear "Snowbird" friend in Arizona, having another retired counselor-friend as companion. (Blessing to have a neighborhood of friends who quickly and willingly took on dog care. Makes traveling easier.) Upon my return, I was back in the "deep end of the grief pool"when all the quick firsts hit: Jack's not driving me to the airport; Jack's not hiding our little "travel bear" in my luggage (a stuffed animal that always showed up somewhere in the traveler's luggage unexpectedly. I did it for myself this time. A first.); I didn't call home when I arrived to let him know I had arrived safely; we didn't exchange phone calls during the week; Jack wasn't there to pick me up at the airport and all the emotions around being back together, again; and he wasn't at the house as I unlocked the door and entered. Oh, Annie B was most happy to see me, but I so missed the "reunion dance" couples do when re-united.

I can only describe my physical response from being overwhelmed with so many firsts, especially in a relatively small amount of time, as having a migraine. For me, like others who suffer those debilitating, painful headache, I go to bed , seek absolute quiet, darkness, and stillness until it "breaks." Then, afterwards, I am left with a drain of energy, a dullness, a "cotton-filled brain" for a good day or so. I function, but I know I am not whole yet. WIth grief, I don't need the bed rest, but I am deeply emotionally, tearful most of the day, and then over two days, that dull headed/body-ness ebbs, and I feel myself come back with some sort of footing in the pool.

The next trip will be easier, I hope, as this first is under the belt.

Seven months has brought more energy to face tasks that have piled up or simply been avoided. I actually found the floor in Jack's study-it's not done, but it's a heck of a lot better. I have begun work on taxes, but, honestly, avoid it as much, too. I've started to figure out what will go when I am ready and what will replace what to fill the house with "my taste" vs. "our tastes." New bedroom furniture, new plateware, new glassware. Gotta get rid of the old stuff before buying new, but I am proud of myself for even moving into "new," and not still desperately grasping to whatever was ours. (A friend bought me the first 4 dinner plates of the Fiestaware line, to be my start, my impetus to get more . I love the bright colors compared to what I have/we had. I want "happy plates" to greet me when I open the cabinet. Isn't that step, alone, sound like movement through the grief and into living what comes next? It does to me.

Counselors call it "reframing": to look at something in a different way. I've felt stuck with cleaning out his t-shirts and polos, because there was an emotional value to them, AND, at the same time, I'm ready to move them.(Note: just the t's and polos. Not the dress clothes.) A friend suggested making a quilt of them. Instantly, my heart went from the anguish of letting go of the shirts with memories to choosing which shirts would be donated and which go into the quilt. This project totally changed the emotional energy from "loss" to "creativity"and transition. And everyone knows of Jack's and my investments and energy into remodeling. So, you all can easily understand that that drawer of shirts was "remodeled" into something I can handle.

A couple of weeks ago, I passed a store that had a heart flag out front. It felt like it was waving Valentine's Day in my face, more than just an advertisement, as it was intended to be. What an ouch! I'll be in a bereavement workshop for those of us who have lost a partner/spouse and are facing Valentine's Day on the Day. Plus, I am thinking of doing something that will symbolically pass on our love. I don't have a definitive plan of action at this time, but I know the opportunity is waiting for me out there. I live by the mantra, "Whether I believe it or not , the world is unfolding exactly as it should." The world will drop something in my lap in the next few weeks, unfolding an opportunity to share love, our love, my love of living. All I need to do is figure if I want to listen and act....or not. So I will face this "first" with support and a plan to do something healing.

In this month, I've heard my laugh several times come out fully, not with a restrained or a forced feeling. It was just a good laugh. I think it was even more remarkable that I noticed. I so feel the difference. And, oh, it felt good. Months ago, it felt like I would never come back with it. Aside, someone noted that perhaps I misspelled the "wit" of my last month's comment dealing with my "Irish wit." (Clue: a 4-letter word that rhythms with "wit.") Oh, that's coming back, too. And, oh that playful side of dishing it out feels good, too. Jack is laughing with me, egging me on. You just know it, I just know it.

To the here and now,
Tally