Lost in the Dark

You may have to bear with me, I think this is going to be a little more disjointed than usual.
I feel like I should put one of those "viewer discretion advisories" at the top... "the following may contain graphic depictions of grief."

When I first received the heart-shaped relic of Joanne, I stumbled a bit with what to call it.  "Joanne's heart?"  "Joanne's relic?"  "Joanne's memorial?"  Recently I've noticed I've settled into calling it my heart.  She is, literally, inside "my heart" forever, as she should be.  It also feels right that "my heart" is not inside my chest; symbolically, it has been torn out.  (Does that mean that when I am missing Jo and press "my heart" against my chest, I am symbolically trying to put it back in?)

[Unzip my body, take my heart out]

I have this innate sense that all life is sacred, even my own, and interconnected in the sense that we are all, in the end, pieces of God.  Within the interconnectedness, I also have Joanne's idea that everything happens for a reason, even if we don't know the reason and even if the reason isn't about us.  The net result of this is that I don't believe in "ending it all" myself.
But that doesn't mean I'm not ready for this to be over so I can be with my sweetie again.
It's oddly freeing, if I think about it right.  I don't need to be afraid of anything anymore.  So what if something kills me?  Then it kills me.  Death can take me the same place it took Joanne.  I don't need to worry about death, if it comes then it does.
I don't need to be afraid of pain, of suffering--in a sense that's real enough to me, I'm walking around carrying my heart in my hand.  What pain can the world possibly show me that is worse than the pain I already have?  I don't need to worry about pain.  I've already survived the unsurvivable, three times now by my count.
I don't need to worry about anything anymore.  There's nothing left for me to worry about.

I get off into this mood, and then it feels silly to me that I am all fixated on building our retirement funds, when I'm sort of hoping I don't have to be here that long.
But I might be.  We never know these things.  I was reading something this morning, a quote from an atheist writer, that uncertainty was a beautiful thing, because where there was certainty, there was no more possibility.
My life still has possibilities.  All I can do is see where all it takes me before it gets to the end.

Rededication

Today (tonight, and until sunset tomorrow) is the Full Blessing Moon.  I have to admit the name of this moon holds no meaning for me right now; the concept of "counting blessings" or looking for "silver linings" or the like just sounds like the type of irritating platitudes that would make me want to cut someone's thread, and not anything that would be useful or inspirational during grief.

However, because it was a Full Moon, it was an auspicious time for me to go bring our niche "up to code."  As it turns out, one of the items I put in our niche to represent Joanne wasn't technically allowable by the columbarium rules; the Hummel 'Her Guardian Angel' print was made of paper, which would have deteriorated and thus been less than permanent.  At first I was very upset and hurt by this, but Joanne's sister told me about some other Hummel items that were also very important to Jo; they had been her mother's, and were the one thing that Jo was insistent that she got when her mother passed.  So, today I removed the Guardian Angel, and placed her Apple Tree Boy & Girl figurines.

Even though I still found it difficult and painful to reach into this sacred space and disturb it--I tried to do it in as ritualistic and reverent a way as I could, and I still felt the need to apologize to Jo as I was removing her Angel--in a way, I might have to admit it might look better this way.  It looks a little more balanced, I think, and the figurines aren't quite as hidden behind the urn as the print was.

Joanne was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason.  From anyone else that would be yet another of those above-mentioned irritating platitudes, but from her, it felt like it was true.  So, I was thinking back to when our relationship was just starting; I still lived in Missouri, she hadn't even met me in person yet, and I had just lost my job.  She wanted to give me something that would protect me, so she took her Guardian Angel, the one she'd had her entire life, and boxed it up and mailed it to me.  She was perfectly serious that it was obviously going to protect me, too; for her, that item held great power, just like I talked about her relic in the last entry.  And when I was going through a hard time, she wanted me to have that power and that protection, even though it meant she would be without it.

Looking back, that 'hard time' of losing that job seems insignificant compared to how hard it is to have lost her.  I could imagine that if she wanted me to have her sacred item back then, then if she were able to, she would probably want to box it up and send it to me now as well.
And now, it's back home, next to my bed.  Our bed.

I swear I can almost hear her telling me that this happened for a reason, that it is the way it was meant to be after all.
If anyone else said it to me, it'd piss me off.  But if she says it, I guess it has to be true.

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.

Into the Dark Black Forest

I understand more, now, why I felt solitary this morning, why I couldn't make myself leave home.

I woke up early again this morning, at 5:30, despite staying up late last night.  I thought about making myself stay in bed just to try for more sleep, but I could tell it wasn't going to happen and all I felt was stiff and uncomfortable.  I don't think I've been able to sleep past 7:00 even once since she passed.

Once I decided I wasn't going anywhere, I tried to get myself organized by making a list of stuff I should work on--cleaning in the kitchen, organizing in the file cabinet, putting together a grocery list, trimming the puppy's nails (and maybe doing mine too)...

I was taken aback this morning by how much I hurt today.  My legs ache, my back is stiff, my shoulders are sore.  I feel old.  I feel like I've aged fifteen years in just a couple of months.

Looking back, I should have seen the wave coming.

But I didn't, so I surprised myself when I had one of those 'tsunami of grief' moments--crying, collapsing on the couch, wailing and screaming, sobbing.  Energies I had saved up leaking away, spilling out of new cracks.
That hadn't happened for a month or so.  I had been hoping I had moved to the 'next stage' but I guess I knew it wasn't that simple, wasn't that linear.

Bodie has been clingy since then.  He doesn't like when it seems like there's something wrong with his mommy.  He's going to have a tough weekend anyway.  Fourth of July sucks.

Not much has gotten crossed off of the list, although the Kitchen did come to life a little bit.  I made myself hashbrowns for the first time since I've been alone; that might have been the trigger, especially since they turned out so well, I thought it was a shame she never got to try my hashbrowns made in the new All-Clad skillet.  I've resisted the urge to order pizza again, and I'm making some tacos and Mexican rice instead.  That is something, I suppose.

Oh well.  It's a holiday weekend, and tomorrow is also the New Moon.  I have three more days off before I go back.  Things will happen as they happen.  I think it's starting to sink in that there are parts of this process that can't be speeded up, that have to come in their time.

The night lasts as long as it lasts, and no amount of effort will bring the sun any sooner.

Better to just accept the darkness, and look to the moon and the stars.

Against the Tide

Sometimes I think I'm making progress, but I don't think I've actually hit that point where the grief starts giving way to mourning and I start actually rebuilding things.  The house hasn't changed much; her jacket is still hanging on the back of her chair, most of her dirty clothes are still where she left them, her desk is just the way she left it except I stacked the estate paperwork on it.  It took me over a month to decide it was time to turn off her computer, for goodness sake.

I've had over a week off now, and it surprises me how absolutely exhausted I still feel all the time.  I want to do things; I want to get the yard mowed finally, I want to clean the kitchen, I want to get the house straightened up and organized so I can feel like it's ready to have company over if I get the notion to invite someone.  At least, I want to want to do all those things.  When I get up intending to do something, though, it feels like I might as well be trying to roll a boulder up a mountain, and I mostly end up pacing around a bit, marvelling at how amazingly tired I feel all of a sudden, and then sitting back down.

I've let the thought cross my mind that I should see the doctor about how I'm feeling so exhausted all the time, and get checked for like sleep apnea or something, but I know better.  I'm sure there's a very simple and obvious answer for why I don't have energy, and I'm sure it has everything to do with the fact I am still grieving--the waves have just settled a bit, so the sudden and unpredictable outbursts of severe emotional distress are fading, and giving way to a more general malaise.

Maybe I just need to try to be more patient.  I am usually very good at being patient, but I am realizing that I am not at all patient when it comes to judging myself.  I know, or at least I've read, that things will come, it just might take a few months, a few years.  I don't want it to take a few years, I want to get up and have all the energy I had before, right now, I want to make her proud of me that I am carrying on.
It makes me think of waiting at the service station.  I might want to get going right now, but it would be a lot smarter to wait until the oil gets put back in and the tires get put back on.

At Rest

Today is a dual Holiday; today is Litha, the summer solstice, and until sunset, it is also the full Lover's Moon.  The main thing I had planned to do today to honor both of these events was to finally get our niche completed (since there were no name markers one Moon ago when we placed the urn).  I'm not really thinking of anything poetic to say about it, except that if it had to be delayed, I am at least glad I was able to have another auspicious time to re-open the niche and add the missing parts.

I asked to take pictures before they re-installed the glass front; I am glad I mentioned wanting that in advance, because when the moment came, Jill had to remind me to take my pictures.  Now I finally have a picture that won't have reflections in front.

The urn has the two medallions, and I used two of Joanne's silver serpentine necklace chains instead of the ribbons that came with them; we looped the longer one around the neck of the urn and it turned out just perfect.  For my side, I added my Chalice, my Tree of Life bracelet, and one of the quartet of my little glass angels.  I actually think this particular little angel represents me perfectly.

It does feel good to finally have the niche completed, but it also feels a bit strange; it feels like getting to this point has been my focus for the past two months, and now it is finished, and it's sort of weird to realize I don't have to worry about that anymore.  Anyway, once the niche was sealed again, I walked down to the little flower shop on the corner, and got a flower for her, just because I could.

I'm planning to make myself some Japanese food for dinner (teriyaki salmon, with rice, miso soup, and sunomono) but I think I am going to be fairly low-energy for the rest of the day.  I think I've actually finished most everything I was pushing myself to get taken care of, and now that I am giving myself a little bit of permission to rest, I am realizing I am just about spent.

Icarian

I gave myself a bit of a wake-up call yesterday--along with a 911 call.  I was at work, in our back office; it was crowded at the moment, also being the "conference room" where all the doctors come to talk to each other (usually about politics or such and nothing patient-related).  I suddenly started feeling really light-headed, I thought I would pass out or worse.  I was hanging on to the desk with my head down; and I sort of remember thinking that there were five medical doctors right there in front of me, and I was going to fall over and die without any of them noticing.  One of them did notice, though; I think he asked me if I was okay and I answered 'I don't know.'

That doctor, the neurologist, takes my pulse, tells the psychiatrist to call 911, and the next thing I know, they are all in "MD mode" and whisking me off to one of the exam rooms to make me lie down.  (This is all during the busy time of the day, mind you, and I am hearing myself protesting that I need to go back to my desk and keep working.)  EMTs came and checked me out, and my pulse was back down to normal by then.  I took a half an hour or so to eat lunch and get myself settled, but ended up staying at work (despite recommendations that I do otherwise).  In all likelihood, I managed to give myself another panic attack (the second one of my life).

I think I've just been pushing myself too hard, and looking too far forward, and I forgot to stay grounded at all.  I fixated on that idea of "this can't be my life" and instead of just living my way through it to see where it will go, I think I was getting frustrated and discontent and wanting things to happen right now, and not giving myself credit for being as strong and resilient as anyone should expect for someone in the early stages of grief.
I'm standing in the middle of the wreckage of our life together--of my life--and instead of taking the time I need to pick up and sort all the little pieces to see what I might have left, I'm letting myself get disappointed in myself that I don't have a skyscraper standing here by now.  Joanne did always tell me I was too hard on myself.

In the Greek myth that everyone knows, Daedalus warns Icarus not to fly too close to the sun, or else his wings will melt and he will fall into the sea.  (Icarus was, apparently, roughly as sensible as I've been being, and plunged to his doom anyway.)  So I think I need to just let things go for now, and focus on the day-to-day that's in front of me.  Take care of the things that are in front of me now--the last of the estate administration stuff, and also the normal things that I haven't been keeping up with, like dishes, cooking, laundry, yard work.

In the details of the myth that not as many people know, what Daedalus actually told Icarus was that he had to fly at a moderate height--if he flew too high, the wings would melt and get ruined, but if he flew too low, the wings would get wet from the seaspray and get ruined, and the only way to make it across was to fly in the middle of the two extremes.  But I think for me right now, if I can make myself keep going forward, and keep up on the day-to-day obligations, and start working my way back into my Kitchen, that will be flying high enough.  Once that stuff starts to feel simple again, then that can be the time to go a little higher and look a little further forward.