Monday, 27 February 2017

After work loneliness

The walk to work from the ferry to my office is roughly 20 minutes. If it is not raining heavily I love the morning walk, the day is new and full of promise. Maybe I will see a person down and out on their luck and offer them a buck or two. Maybe I will see the progress made by the man with the many suitcases fresh out from the shelter as he moves them from lamppost to lamppost up Spring Garden Road. Or say hi to that same person I see at the same time each morning on the street. I will walk my usual route and take in the sites, snapping some photographs, my thoughts fresh and positive and a bounce in my step. In the morning my memories of Terry are soft and peaceful triggered constantly by a song on my ipod, a crow cawing, a glance at a truck from a place he worked, a store or restaurant we visited - all relating back to us or him. Sometimes I am shocked by how much of him is there around me even when I am not looking.

The walk home is different. Maybe it is because I am tired or worn out from work and socializing. The day heading into night closes in around me. I notice the streets are busier, people move faster, no one looks at you and smiles, heads are down. I notice people are in pairs more in the latter part of the day and sometimes (despite my unconscious desire to the contrary) I even notice the dreaded fucking couples hand holding. Have they met up after work? Are they heading to their houses and apartments to share their evening together or grabbing a bite and a movie after their day apart? As I move closer to the ferry I feel my steps getting heavier. These coupled strangers in my work commute move quicker as I slow.  Phones are out, connections are made, their body movements revealing that anticipation of going home to loved ones. They rush to waiting cars with their partners behind the wheel ready for a kiss. It's the hardest time, this 20 minutes of smack in my face loneliness. It is hard to ignore. I desperately plan what I can possibly do to avoid this. I have whittled down all the grief landmines that threatened to shred me to pieces (Sunday family suppers, Saturday mornings, Friday nights, bedtime) into workable slots of getbyisms. But I can't yet rid myself of this 20 minutes of after work loneliness.

Sunday, 26 February 2017

There comes a time

1060 days but who's counting. I miss the good old days, the ones around 200 before I knew what was to come, before I felt so separated and adrift from him, before the tears dried up to a trickle. I remember it was somewhere in the 350's when this feeling of now knowing what was coming started to kick in. I asked myself why was I waiting for the anniversary date, the magic 365 days?  Would something change, feel better? And it hit me, no..  you will just be 365 days missing him and many more to come. It's kinda been up and down on the old grief roller coaster since then. Most of the first year was spent in a haze of memory, closeness, dreams and enough tears to fill a bathtub. Even if it was gut wrenching horrific heart break, it was about him and for him with him the center of it. Now there is a hole where he was. A big pit where my life once was.

I read in Megan Devine's blog http://www.refugeingrief.com/ today about the loss of the one we love being so intense it's like a huge crater in our lives and we are left with no life to get back into. I really got that. On this grief journey I keep striving to get back into life, return to life, partake in life, be happy in life. But my life as I knew it is gone, I can't go back. When that fuck cancer took my husband, my soul mate of 34 years, it took most of my life with him. So I need to find a whole new one, a whole new me. Having been with my husband since I was eighteen I am struggling with this. I find I am turning to unhealthy coping in order to skirt this crater, in my attempt to ignore there is no old life. I pondered all this in the few moments it took me to vomit last nights copious amount of wine and supper into the toilet this morning, head ready to blow up, mouth stretched wide open to pour out my shameful inadequacy to face life and my heartache. But something was different this time, as I watched myself - a little bit above and behind from my wise seat of consciousness- this time I felt self compassion instead of self loathing. This time I was able to quietly respond, oh Susan.... it's okay now. Look at her, you are allowed to honor that broken self that is left trying to live through this, you don't have to hate her. This realization was a long way from the guilt ridden inner voice screaming from inside the crater. Maybe just maybe this was a tiny bit of growth on day 1060.