It’s supposed to get to 70 later today, but right now, in the darkness, there’s a chill in the house and as I move around comfortably to locate my computer and get writing, I’m feeling good- a good night of sleep for my Tuesday activities ahead. But I’ll meet the day with my ever-present tears and I won’t wipe them away.
Yesterday, back at my place, I lit a fresh Duraflame log in the fireplace to take away the morning chill and I sat on the couch watching an entertaining Morning Joe, dreading my Monday morning guitar lesson. I had promised I’d practice my new piece more and I didn’t come through. I dreaded Jon’s arrival because I would confess immediately. I forget though, that Jon takes me where I am and understands that life gets in the way. And he understands grief because he’s going though his own fresh loss of his father.
And yes, when he arrived and I tried to confess, he stopped me and together he moved me through the familiar section of the new piece, added on a bit more and then we returned to one of my favorite pieces from the past and slowly I made it through to the end. What a good hour, comforted by the music and his kindness.
But then he left and I was back in the silence. I couldn’t call you to share my progress and for the next few hours, I killed time with chores, wondering what would happen during my weekly therapy session with Sandy.
Another great hour coming…
I sat across from Sandy in her very comfortable space. I didn’t have to say much. I couldn’t say much. I couldn’t hide the tears, the cracks in my voice and Sandy, like Jon, just took me where I was. She reminded me that I was in this grief for the long run no matter how many ghosts I tried to throw off. There’s no way to escape the pain of your absence. Slow down… breathe…
We did… breathing, moving, energizing, moving out of my head, taking on the what grief does to the body.
At the end of the hour I walked out into the sunshine with energy and understanding and acceptance.
Sounds good yes, but hard times ahead, my love. I know you aren’t happy about my sadness but that’s what you get for loving me so deeply, getting me into the habit of being so loved. That’s what you get.
Good thing, too that my brother Jeff heard my sadness when I called him later and pushed me to come up for a few days to be with the family. Good thing Tara had enough energy to walk Sophie and me and share a cup of coffee. Good thing I stopped for some great rotisserie chicken on the way home (Tara’s recommendation). Good thing I had Dancing with the Stars to move me into dreamland.
Good things happened to me yesterday.
I’m just doing to best I can,