Last week I didn't want to get dressed. My yoga pats were calling to me from their drawer and I succumbed to several days of rocking the mysterious, "I might be on my way to the gym" look. I didn't recognize it immediately. On Friday, day four of casual Friday, I realized the elephant was back. Perched on my soul was grief. Pesky grief, always sneaking on in even when I'm watching, even when I have been expecting her.
Of course, on Friday when she arrived and I acknowledged her presence, we became reacquainted with our daily routine. She suggested I go about as if it were casual Friday and I suggested I should at least do my hair. She encouraged me to stay in bed while I suggested perhaps I should clean up the book my dog thought he would shred while I was ironically at book club the night before. You see Grief, she's a pest like that. Always encouraging me to take a few steps back so when the right hook makes contact with my cheekbone, I'm completely rocked right off my feet. Griefs kind of a bitch like that.
Milestones, anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, Wednesdays, 17's, Great Wolf Lodge, my niece's birthday, Thanksgiving planning, taking a shower, hearing the water running. They all come back to haunt me when grief pays me a visit. She's a bit of a dictator, trying to control my life.
Once I accepted her presence as necessary, it was time to take the walk.
I have retold myself the story of the morning Chris died thousands of times. I've done it late at night in bed, while sitting in Maya's class sorting papers, at the doctor's office waiting for Owen to get stitches, while vacuuming the floor, while watching my kids coming down the waterslide at Great Wolf Lodge, on the flight to California. The story has become part of many experiences since its actual happening. It became my way of remembering as well as a method of numbing myself to the events. At times when the reel in my head has come to the end, I stop in my tracks, shocked that the story is real.
If you're reading this, you probably already know the story.
So,here's what I know about the story now.
It's difficult to allow myself to release the guilt. My heart knows it's not healthy. My brain knows it's counterproductive. But the guilt, though it has faded, still exists. Would have, could have, should have.
Love doesn't die.
Those who sped to my rescue after my panicked phone calls on November 17, 2010, continue to come to my rescue physically, socially, emotionally.
As much as I have tried, the final image I have of Chris is seared into my soul. As much as others tell me to replace it with happier images, it does not budge. I loathe that his happy go lucky, laid back smile is replaced in my soul by an image I have described to very few. Acting as the gatekeeper, few have come to understand the image as it exists in me.
As I continued to feel Chris' spirit and talk to him in the hours and days following his death, I still talk to and feel his occasional presence. I hear his voice and pray for his hand in guiding the decisions I make and watching over the beautiful pieces of his heart that were left in my care.
The story, though heart breaking in its existence, never ends. Chris lives on in my heart. He lives on in the personality of a son who barely knew him. He lives on through the devoted love of a daughter who asks often to be reminded of the man he was. He lives on in the stinky old hound dog he just had to have 8 years ago, who now comforts my heart in the lonely nights. He lives on in this house that teeters between haunting my mortality and enveloping my heart with peace. His spirit lives on because the love and essence in which he lived his life was so pure.
In the days following Chris' death, I couldn't sleep. I was trying to rest at night on couch cushions arranged on the living room floor, unable to bear the sight of the bedroom we had once shared. One of my best friends slept on the couch and my parents slept on an air mattress surrounding me. My heart was in so much pain that the essence of my being felt empty and numb. Then it happened, I woke up and felt my soul again, and with the searing pain, I had this song in my heart
Chris created an easy silence in my soul and kept the craziness of life and the world at a calm hum for me. Today I remember you on the third anniversary of the day you earned your angel wings and pray you left this world knowing how adored you truly are. Always.
