It has nearly been 9 months since that evening in August
when family and friends watched as Carleton passed from this realm. In the months since, I have stayed busy,
moving from issue to issue, task upon task, addressing event after event.
For the first four months, it was difficult to have more
than one thought, one focus at a time.
Grief brought a volcanic eruption of emotion that covers every inch of
life within the bounds of existence.
Yet, Time provides the benefit of distance from that moment when Death's
door opens and Love stolen away. Events
require attention, people attempt to connect, and important skills begin to surface
once again as Life cajoles me to move forward.
At times, Life has a way of reminding you that Time has not stopped for
anyone, it is just being less demanding at the moment.
In the last nine months, I have felt a plethora of
emotions. I would say that it would be
easier to list the emotions I have not felt, but I could not list one. As with any intimate loss, what may be most
jarring is the emptiness. Living in
those moments when you do not remember the last smile, the last time you
kissed, the last time you were held, the last time you fought. The first few months were confusing how
overwhelming my emotions were to feel and yet be able to breathe. Time has provided new abilities to constrain
those emotions, cooling them. Yet, after
any volcanic eruption of severe magnitude, it is easy to move forward and enter
a moment that catches you unaware. Those
moments feel as if you break through the newly formed floor back into the searing
magma of emotions, if only for minutes.
For me, the first few months my body simply needed to
recover. My skin tone returned from gray
to flush. By month four, I had regained
a semblance of my normal sleep cycle. By
month five, I felt pretty strong, emotionally and at peace with all that had occurred
in 2013. Yet, it was in months seven and
eight that I have had surprises.
With my new emotional landscape calming, I began to look
outward. Yet, it seems with every
television program, every aspect of life, each observation of others, I am
reminded that I have lost something that my heart and mind desperately wants to regain. Spring has come and with it new experiences
and surprises.
I visited Celia at her home in Palm Springs. It was warm and the second day there, in the
early morning, I threw off the comforter that covered me. In that moment, it seemed, the smallest bit
of my brain which had either not been paying attention or had merely been
lulled into the past raised an alarm.
The weight of comforters was enough to convince some part of my being
that Carleton was still with me. And,
the act of throwing the comforter off, that weight jarred a part of my sense of
self and triggered that small place of denial into great panic and grief. It was as if I had not grieved at all. That small portion of my brain or self was
just now starting to grieve the way the rest of me had grieved for months. It was ready to create another eruption of
emotion.
What could I do? It
has been over 6 months since Carleton had died.
But, here I was again in the midst of grief almost as intense as the
weeks following his death. On the drive back home, the grief was so intense that as I cried, I even gripped my hand closed as if I was holding
Carleton’s hand, I missed him so much.
Because, we would have been holding hands on the drive home.
Now, of course, my practical side begins flaring in alarm. It is only expected that in the first few months’
people have to give someone in grief “space” to address their loss. But, what about after the first 6
months? Good grief! Did I need medication? Is this normal? This must be a little excessive to feel this
intensity of grief again! Grief should be
on a schedule just like anything else. I
think I could allow it some hours next Tuesday.
Would that work? All these
questions, judgments and fears came rushing to the front. I feel pretty confident that those who grieve
do worry about a time limit for grief imposed by others. And, worry too, about our own imposing when
we feel a need to verbalize our grief.
What I realized over the course of the next two weeks was
that a part of me simply had refused to participate in the generalized “group
grief” the majority of my brain and heart had experienced over the last 6
months. This small part that was deep
inside had simply found a way to avoid Carleton’s death. It clung to the weight of a comforter to
prove it was simply a nightmare and was awaiting the finish of the dream. It had become numb to the overwhelming
immediacy of the loss and the passing of Carleton’s death. It had hidden from reality and had chosen to
hibernate. The lifting of the comforter
was truly surprising and wrenching. That
action had ripped away the comfort which had been provided to a small amount of
my hibernating memory. Its responsive grief was volcanic.
As this part of me began to erupt in grief, another part of
me was exasperated with the entire grief process. And, if I was feeling exasperated, I began to
worry that those who care about me most were exasperated with my grieving, too. Worse, I became concerned that those who
simply knew I had recently had this tragic loss would be thinking “get over it
already”.
I attempted to force the grief out, down, back, whatever I
could to “get back on track”. Yet, the
more I attempted to control how I felt, the less in control I felt. How was I to manage these volcanic eruptions?
Ultimately, that is the process of grief. Grief is.
It is the sister of Loss. And,
the reality is that Grief is going to be as loud as the pain of our Loss. It seems that when Love passes through the
Door of Death, Loss and Grief arrive. They
are never welcome nor expect to be welcomed.
Yet, Loss allows us to “see” our lost Love while Grief communicates the
impact. These twin sisters are a poor
replacement for Love but the only ones allowed. They are treasured and scorned by our Memory. And frankly, Time does not control or have the ability to
minimize Grief or Loss. Time merely
provides an avenue to create distance from these two Sisters.
As I arrived at this understanding, I begin to breathe
again. Approaching Grief and Loss like a
sister is a concept I can appreciate. I
have a great sister. And, like my
sister, Grief and Loss can be unpredictable.
Allowing space and time to allow healing when rifts occur makes absolute
sense. They must be handled with care,
avoided at times, faced at times, visited at times, and definitely not taken
for granted. There will be times they require attention and some of those times will be at unexpected moments, moments that may be quite painful to experience.
But, hopefully, as in the
case of my sister, these twin replacements for Love, perhaps, can find a place
of peace in my Heart. Grief and Loss will always be a part of me because they reside where Love once lived. And, Love, being eternal, had a place for eternity in my heart. Like my sister, they will always be in my thoughts, unlikely ever to be forgotten. And, like my
sister, perhaps we can exist without another seismic eruption to
disturb the landscape for a great time to come.
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