Saturday, August 08, 2009
It's been years since I have written on this blog. Maybe I have enough distance to write it now. We'll see.
2006-2007. In the early months of grieving, I thought I had skipped the denial stage. After all, I knew that Bob was dead--I had seen it coming--I had released him so that he could let go. But looking back, I can see that I begged him to come home for over a year. And that makes no sense, but I realize that denial isn't about sense. It's the heart that denies what the mind knows. So I just wanted him to come home and for all this to be over. And as I noted those desires, I thought I must be going crazy, because I knew he couldn't come home. Finally, in May of 2007, over a year after he died, I gave myself a shake and said I had to accept that he couldn't come back and that continuing to beg for him to come home was a disservice to Bob. If he could come back, he would never have left. That may not make sense to anyone else, but it made sense to my heart. I saw that I had to "move on"--not to stop grieving, but to stop denying--because this was the way things would be from now on. So then I moved into the next phase, although I could easily move back into denial.
2007-2008. So I spent the second year of grieving looking for a way to accept that my life would never be the way it used to be. Because I just didn't like the way things were for me now. I had nothing to look forward to because the future didn't hold anything I wanted. I had no dreams. I even heard the lyrics in my head: you got to have a dream/if you don't have a dream/how you going to have a dream come true? So I dragged myself through the second year of grieving by focusing on the day and ignoring the looming dark of the future. I just had to trust that time would bring about a change of some sort. And that's what I found. Time doesn't exactly heal--at least not in the sense that the loss no longer hurts--but the pain becomes more bearable. I missed being Bob's wife and his caretaker--so I decided to be a caretaker. I invited my granddaughter to live with me, with the understanding that she obtain her GED and that she had to work. So I had a project. And early in 2008, she got her GED. Then she met Chris at work, and she moved in with him.
2008-2009. The third year of grieving was when I decided to make my own life my project. I needed to work on something about myself so that I had something to work towards in the future. And I decided it was time to move closer to work and to my friends. Bob had wanted me to move into Austin, but I didn't think I could leave the house where we had been together, the house we were planning to grow old in. Now I decided it was time to do it. So I put my house in order so that I could list it for sale. It went on the market in late December. I closed on the sale in April of 2009, and I closed on the purchase of my new house in Austin. I moved on April 25, three years, one month, and five days after Bob's death.
Just a few days before the move, I was feeling terrified that I had made a mistake in selling the house that he had worked on. I was standing in the living room, looking into the back yard that he always compared to a Disney movie--the birds and squirrels, the soughing pines--with the door open to that beautiful yard. A wind came into the house and swirled around me. I felt it on all sides of me at once, embracing me and lifting me. And I knew that Bob approved of the move. From that time onward, I felt at peace with my decision.
I also had a dream before I moved. Bob and I were in the car together and we were going somewhere with that sense of adventure that we had about the open road. And I awoke and knew I wasn't leaving him behind in the old house. He was going with me on this adventure. We would still be together. And this dream was unusual because I hadn't been dreaming of him. In fact, I was feeling sad that he wasn't as much in my dreams as he had been that first year after his death. But I have dreamed of him several times since the move.
The move was three months ago. At first I yearned for the familiar places where Bob had been, the beautiful floor that I could picture him working on, the front door that he had installed, the yard that he had turned into a park. Now I know I have made the right decision. I still have those memories--I don't need that place to be able to remember.
My therapist said that healing would mean forming a new relationship with my memories. It's a process. And it's easy to get stuck. Stuck is comfortable even though it's uncomfortable. But it's all part of the process. ¶ 8:57 AM
2006-2007. In the early months of grieving, I thought I had skipped the denial stage. After all, I knew that Bob was dead--I had seen it coming--I had released him so that he could let go. But looking back, I can see that I begged him to come home for over a year. And that makes no sense, but I realize that denial isn't about sense. It's the heart that denies what the mind knows. So I just wanted him to come home and for all this to be over. And as I noted those desires, I thought I must be going crazy, because I knew he couldn't come home. Finally, in May of 2007, over a year after he died, I gave myself a shake and said I had to accept that he couldn't come back and that continuing to beg for him to come home was a disservice to Bob. If he could come back, he would never have left. That may not make sense to anyone else, but it made sense to my heart. I saw that I had to "move on"--not to stop grieving, but to stop denying--because this was the way things would be from now on. So then I moved into the next phase, although I could easily move back into denial.
2007-2008. So I spent the second year of grieving looking for a way to accept that my life would never be the way it used to be. Because I just didn't like the way things were for me now. I had nothing to look forward to because the future didn't hold anything I wanted. I had no dreams. I even heard the lyrics in my head: you got to have a dream/if you don't have a dream/how you going to have a dream come true? So I dragged myself through the second year of grieving by focusing on the day and ignoring the looming dark of the future. I just had to trust that time would bring about a change of some sort. And that's what I found. Time doesn't exactly heal--at least not in the sense that the loss no longer hurts--but the pain becomes more bearable. I missed being Bob's wife and his caretaker--so I decided to be a caretaker. I invited my granddaughter to live with me, with the understanding that she obtain her GED and that she had to work. So I had a project. And early in 2008, she got her GED. Then she met Chris at work, and she moved in with him.
2008-2009. The third year of grieving was when I decided to make my own life my project. I needed to work on something about myself so that I had something to work towards in the future. And I decided it was time to move closer to work and to my friends. Bob had wanted me to move into Austin, but I didn't think I could leave the house where we had been together, the house we were planning to grow old in. Now I decided it was time to do it. So I put my house in order so that I could list it for sale. It went on the market in late December. I closed on the sale in April of 2009, and I closed on the purchase of my new house in Austin. I moved on April 25, three years, one month, and five days after Bob's death.
Just a few days before the move, I was feeling terrified that I had made a mistake in selling the house that he had worked on. I was standing in the living room, looking into the back yard that he always compared to a Disney movie--the birds and squirrels, the soughing pines--with the door open to that beautiful yard. A wind came into the house and swirled around me. I felt it on all sides of me at once, embracing me and lifting me. And I knew that Bob approved of the move. From that time onward, I felt at peace with my decision.
I also had a dream before I moved. Bob and I were in the car together and we were going somewhere with that sense of adventure that we had about the open road. And I awoke and knew I wasn't leaving him behind in the old house. He was going with me on this adventure. We would still be together. And this dream was unusual because I hadn't been dreaming of him. In fact, I was feeling sad that he wasn't as much in my dreams as he had been that first year after his death. But I have dreamed of him several times since the move.
The move was three months ago. At first I yearned for the familiar places where Bob had been, the beautiful floor that I could picture him working on, the front door that he had installed, the yard that he had turned into a park. Now I know I have made the right decision. I still have those memories--I don't need that place to be able to remember.
My therapist said that healing would mean forming a new relationship with my memories. It's a process. And it's easy to get stuck. Stuck is comfortable even though it's uncomfortable. But it's all part of the process. ¶ 8:57 AM
