It's quite likely there are equally as many people who roll their eyes and quietly judge me for my exhibitionism. They (you??) are welcome and encouraged to unfollow, unfriend, or refuse to click the links to my public therapy sessions if you don't find them helpful, enlightening, encouraging or entertaining in some way.
******
I know the fall is a favourite time of year for many people. While I do find aspects of it beautiful, I actually find it depressing. It signifies the coming of winter. And winter and I aren't really the best of buddies.
When people start posting about "fall being in the air" or "pumpkin spice... anything" I generally want to throat punch them.
But this year, I am trying to make a pointed intention of being grateful each day - I find it's truly difficult to be grateful and angry at the same time. Or grateful and sad. Or grateful and depressed... you get the picture.
I know that fall is the season of nature dying off in preparation for it's hibernation before starting its cycle all over again, but often September feels more like "New Year's" to me than January does. The lazy days of summer are over and school and all the programs and routines seem to kick back into gear.
Kind of a new start if you will.
Today, August 28th, I am nine months into life on my own.
I was struck today how this sort of correlates a bit to nine months of pregnancy for me.
I reach my nine month marker, and summer is winding down. My last few months of whirlwind travel that has seen 13,000 km on my new car and another nearly 10,000 km to Maui, but for now, I have no plans to leave home until a wee trip to Kamloops in November.
I feel like September might indeed be a kick-off to a new season. Sort of like my new real life starts now.
I've had nine months of growing pains and discomfort, excuses, or rather, reasons for just 'checking out' and not feeling the need to feel guilty about doing whatever the hell I figured I needed to do.
But the travelling is done for now. The guests have quit cycling through my door. My book has been published. My pension is in place. It's probably just time to settle in.
Oh to be sure as I move forward, the scars of the pain - physical and emotional, even spiritual, I've had to make in the past nine months will be with me forever.
Do I long for the days from just one year ago when neither Albert nor I had any clue whatsoever what lay in store? You bet yer ass I do.
Do I have a gaping hole in my heart? You bet yer ass I do.
Do I hate functioning my whole life with only half of my being? You bet yer ass I do.
Do I acknowledge I had the most amazing thirty-eight years with a very incredible human? You bet yer ass I do.
Do I acknowledge that even in my pain, even in my sorrow, I have so very much to be grateful for? You bet yer ass I do.
So here I am, nine months in, completely spent. Exhausted. Crying. Sad. Still in love. Grateful. Hopeful. Determined. And moving forward. One teeny tiny step at a time...
*****
Once again my keyboard just takes off running with a mind of its own when I start to blog.
Facebook statuses are a shallow replacement, but I find them somewhat helpful. While blogs are more therapeutic, they literally take me one to three hours to formulate, hence they are less frequent.
I sat down to explain how I experience grief differently when I am at home and when I am travelling (which I've had the privilege to do quite a bit in the past nine months) ...
I've got nearly 13,000km on Francesca, my shiny black Rogue that I've had for about six months. I averaged about 9500 per year in the Granny Mobile, the black Kia Soul I previously owned for nine years.
It probably seems natural to think that traveling is a form of 'escape' or a chance to just get away from the grief or to occupy ones mind with other things. But in fact, my experience has been kind of the opposite.
When I am at home, just living my day-to-day life, there is a sense of the ordinary. Being that Albert worked many years of straight nightshifts, sleeping alone is not a giant adjustment for me. And in the spirit of daily finding things to be grateful for, this training of sleeping alone is something I truly am thankful for.
However, when travelling I find it more apparent that he is gone.
Of course there is the aspect that more often than not, he travelled with me and he always did 100% of the driving. But more noticeably to me is the fact that he is not there for me to call or text at the end of the day to share my experiences of the day with.
I find when I travel or do something beyond normal day-to-day, I'm more apt to think, "I've gotta text Albert about..." And then am dashed when reality reminds me I can't.
I know this will lessen as time goes on, as I experienced this same sort of phenomenom, and even occasionally still do, after losing Mama six years ago.
But here's the odd thing. I don't actually want to experience this less and less. The pain of grief is intense. On one hand you want it to go away. On the other hand there is pleasure and solace in the ache. Somehow there is comfort in knowing you were loved and capable of loving to degrees you can't quite explain.
The loss of it unbearable. The gratitude for it having been, immense.
No comments:
Post a Comment