Month 6 Update

Dear Peoples,

A simple summary: in 6 months, I have endured without Jack my birthday(August), our anniversary(October), a Thanksgiving(November), and now Christmas (December.) I have completed a 6-week bereavement group through Evergreen Hospice (early December), connecting with 6 other grieving souls, and we will continue to meet, supporting each other. And I have cried and cried and I am still here with hope that things will some day, way down some road, will get better.

After 26+ years together, there are simply too many stories, memories, moments, and now triggers. Just too many. As if going anywhere, doing anything isn't enough to bring about an "I remember when we did that or went there," it is also my subconscious flipping through a rollex of pictures, sounds, places, moments together, pulling out one, and flinging it to the forefront of whatever I'm doing, and I find myself being whisked completely away into a moment and into tears. I don't see these "Flash from Past" coming, but know I will be crying deeply when they land. And I will never be able to convey to you all the intensity or depth of the phrase, "I miss you so much, Jack," but it is my daily greeting to him, morning, noon, and night.

Now, I've seen some progress in my adjustment to his passing. Jack's warm jackets have been passed on before the snow hit and old worn-out running shoes have been recycled this week. I must have looked a tad bit odd in the shoe store that takes the shoes for recycling as I kissed the last one goodbye before dropping it in the bin. Probably no crazier than holding onto one of his favorite warm jackets, kissing it, hugging it goodbye, as if he was still in it, before letting go.(Glad it was one of his waterproof ones, as to not worry about leaving tear stains.) I've actually looked at his razor, shaving cream, dental floss, and toothpaste and am nearly ready to clean that off his side of the bathroom countertop. Nearly. I've learned to slow way down, listening to my heart before letting go of anything: "Are you really ready to let go of this? Really?" Any hesitation signals that I am not. But I see the baby steps of even thinking it, much less actually doing it, as progress, when, before, it was too vital, almost sacred, to hold onto everything of his, every single item. I am healing.

One of the bereavement classes I attended was on coping with the holidays. There were 40 of us packed in room for a two+ hour Saturday morning presentation on how to get through this season. Two key learnings from that workshop carried me through the Christmas season. One: it will never, ever be the same, again, no matter what I do or how much I want it to be so. Two: the goal is to continue grieving AND find the joy of the season. I faced those two lessons numerous times, often crying that, sure enough, the holidays were changing, morphing into something new and I couldn't bring him or his spirit back into it no matter what I did or tried. I had a dear neighbor take care of decorating the tree, which was always Jack's job, one that just gave him so much joy to do. If she hadn't done it, the tree, which I did buy and was proud of myself for finding that much "joy," would have had maybe one ornament on it: the new one I bought, "joyfully" continuing the tradition of buying a new one every year. It was an angel with the word "Hope." I thought appropriate, considering the circumstances. Other dear friends made sure there were gifts that I didn't buy for myself under the tree, so I had surprises to unwrap. I had Christmas Eve breakfast and gift opening with Jack's son, Steve and his family at their house (snow made travel to the cabin too difficult), and that will be a new tradition. I had Christmas morning breakfast with a dear friend, and that was heart-warming to be a part of her family's traditions. Returning home around noon, I made it my tradition that I opened one gift per hour, to drag that "joy" out longer into the day. I got up the day after Christmas with this one thought: I did it, I did it.

On a personal level, I learned that if I ask for it, it will happen, like the tree decorating, the wrapped gifts, or a friend helping me shop for myself when I was suffering huge brain "freezes" when it came to decision making. Ah, those "brain freezes." Several times, while shopping, I would hit an absolutely wall in thinking. Nothing was functioning and the only option seemed to be was to just walk away, to try again later. ("So, I drove all this way," I would talk to myself, "and now I'm driving all the way home with nothing?" Yep, you are. Deal with it. Go call a friend for help.) I know that I am so surrounded with caring and anxious souls, wanting to help me gimp through this difficult time. If I ask, I know help is there. Truly, that was a gift that can't be wrapped anywhere but around the heart and in the mind, and it was truly given to me this season. I needn't any further proof than my experience with people in the last two weeks.

I was Bellevue-bound before the holidays because there was a memorial wrestling tournament in Jack's honor, to help both promote the sport of wrestling and to raise money for the scholarship in his name. Because of weather, it was cancelled, which was awful in light of the hours and hours and hours and hours of work behind the scene to create such an event. Hope is that it will be either January 3rd or 17th. That will also keep me "west side" bound. If you haven't seen the fabulous web site for this scholarship and the fundraising, please check it out: www.JackReynoldsScholarshipFund.com All the energy and work around this scholarship brings me to tears, as it so honors Jack's love of students and the sport of wrestling. Some wonderful men working hard to honor our Jack.

I think about a new year starting in a few days. Such a mixed bag to be away from dying and death that 2008 will always carry with it, and, at the same time, looking forward at what I may find new in 2009, both within myself and in my world. I pray that sounds hopeful to you, as that is how it feels inside, which I know that it is also a part of the healing. I knew that "hope" angel ornament was more than a Christmas decoration: it was a seed planted within, watered with tears, supported by friends and family, and fertilized with good ol' Irish wit. It will grow, no doubt.

Joyful holidays to you and yours.

In the here and now,
Tally

P.S. Several people have asked discreetly about my financial status. So, I'm putting it out there for everyone to know. Wisely, when we retired, we both chose the option of "survivor" on our pensions, less monthly money, but a guarantee for the survivor. Simply, I am getting Jack's pension on top of my own for the rest of my life. I have to budget, ain't buying new cars, boats or a new wardrobe, but I am comfortable, maintaining both the Bellevue house and Cashmere cabin, and having enough to provide "fun stuff" to do, too, like attending concerts, playing soccer, buying an impulse item here and there. I'm OK, I really am.