Friday, August 11, 2006
I have had the feeling that Bob "gave up" when his disabilities got to be too much for him. But I feel disloyal for thinking that, since he was such a fighter--he kept his spirits up until the pain got bad last fall--and even then, he tried so hard to keep going. I guess what I'm saying is that I feel resentment that he "gave up"--that is, that he died--and yet I can't imagine that I would have fought for so long against so many limitations. I think it's my grief that holds this against him--some resentment that I've been abandoned. It's not the first time I've noticed that a part of me interprets the loss as abandonment--and I think that's common with grief. It's really odd that I find so many ways to fault myself for the grieving process, which is probably very "natural"--the way that vomiting is a natural way to rid the body of something harmful or distracting.
I have one of his hats and a kerchief that he wore that have his smell on them. I can catch a whiff of his scent and it takes me back. And in the days after my first therapy appointment on July 21, I had strong memories of him being beside me. A couple of weeks ago it fooled me completely because I had drifted off to sleep in my chair, which is right beside his chair. I had left a magazine in his chair and the cat jumped up on it and settled down. The rustling of the magazine awoke me and I woke to the idea that Bob had turned the page on his magazine. I thought for a second that these past months had been a horrible dream, but even as I opened my eyes I knew that it hadn't been a dream--that he had actually died. Still, I had to look at his chair to be sure that he wasn't there. And I had a couple of other times in the those days when I thought I heard him in another room--and it was the cat--or thought he was lying beside me on the bed. I guess it's a phase of the greiving process that I'm moving into. In general, I like these strong memories, although I was very sad when I thought he was sitting beside me. I think the therapy has ushered in a new wave of sadness, and it's good to go through the sadness--it has to be the way to healing. ¶ 8:09 AM
I have one of his hats and a kerchief that he wore that have his smell on them. I can catch a whiff of his scent and it takes me back. And in the days after my first therapy appointment on July 21, I had strong memories of him being beside me. A couple of weeks ago it fooled me completely because I had drifted off to sleep in my chair, which is right beside his chair. I had left a magazine in his chair and the cat jumped up on it and settled down. The rustling of the magazine awoke me and I woke to the idea that Bob had turned the page on his magazine. I thought for a second that these past months had been a horrible dream, but even as I opened my eyes I knew that it hadn't been a dream--that he had actually died. Still, I had to look at his chair to be sure that he wasn't there. And I had a couple of other times in the those days when I thought I heard him in another room--and it was the cat--or thought he was lying beside me on the bed. I guess it's a phase of the greiving process that I'm moving into. In general, I like these strong memories, although I was very sad when I thought he was sitting beside me. I think the therapy has ushered in a new wave of sadness, and it's good to go through the sadness--it has to be the way to healing. ¶ 8:09 AM
