Saturday, July 16, 2016

Sacred Relic

Today is three months since Joanne passed away.  I think this has probably been the toughest month so far, emotionally; even aside from the panic attacks, it just felt like I fell off into that starting-to-be-familiar pit again, but instead of hitting what I thought was the bottom, I crashed right through it and dropped another hundred feet.  If I hadn't already had the time off around my birthday, I'm not sure if I could have made it through without missing work.

I did have something positive happen this month; last week I went to Artful Ashes in Seattle, and they made a glass monument for me from some of Joanne's ashes.  Wednesday, I was able to go pick it up.

On Wednesday night, I was a bit down, like I was feeling as if it hadn't been the comfort I had hoped it would be, but now after a few days, I think maybe it has.  I've been taking 'her' to work with me, twice now, and being able to pick this up and hold it when I feel like I need something has been nice.  It's not the same as holding her hand, but it is what I have.  I can be holding something that is--or was--a piece of her.

And based on results, I think it must have made some kind of difference; on Friday, I was able to push myself to do some things in the house that hadn't been getting done, and even to do some yard work in the front lawn, which hadn't happened yet this year.  And today, even though I was worried how I would hold together at work, with it being the three-month anniversary of her death, and it being a Saturday like it was then, and with me being at work in the same place, making the same drive home, I think I did a pretty good job of staying strong.  My co-worker commented to me that she could tell I was "melancholy," and I did carry Joanne's relic around with me a lot during the day, but there were no paramedics, no crazy screaming-and-sobbing freak-out sessions... I did good, compared to how I had been worrying I would be.

We did good, Joanne and I.

I know she's not really there, inside the heart, any more than her soul is attached to my Eternal Flame; I know she is on the other side.  But if this object--a chunk of glass with some calcium swirled through it--can help me feel connected to her, can help me pull the broken pieces together well enough to shamble onward, can help me find strength to face the world as I am, in all my shattered glory... then it does have power, even if only to me.

And that makes it a sacred thing.  Even if only to me.

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