Friday, May 23, 2014

Status Report

Did you know there's such a thing as a grief attack? It's a sudden, overwhelming sense of sorrow that insists on you paying attention to it and it won't let go of you until you do. That's how I experience them, anyway. They may never stop altogether, but I've noticed they come fewer and farther between as time goes on. I read this great article about the first year of grief and I've found a lot of comfort and wisdom there.

I have at last unearthed all of our photographs and brought them home out of storage. I found the album from our vow renewal in 2002, with our hair dyed lilac for the occasion. 
The dye didn't take so well to Asa's beard, but the effort was made.

There's a huge envelope full of pictures from my son's wedding years ago - Asa took them with an old 35mm camera he found in a thrift store. Boxes of pictures of babies and sepia-toned obscure relations from the 20's and 30's that no one can identify. A folder with my dad's hand-tinted photographs of his Army days at Scoffield Barracks, taken just days before the attack on Pearl Harbor. A box full of my kids' school days memorabilia. Locks of their hair from their first haircuts wrapped in newsprint. I'm glad it's all here now. I feel better with it here.

His toothbrush still hangs in the bathroom. His slippers are still on his side of the bed. I rearranged all the furniture in the bedroom, though. When I finished doing it, I looked around the room and thought, it's my bedroom now. It's my apartment, now, too. Just mine. Then I had a good cry and then I made dinner.

Speaking of dinner - I'm rediscovering the kitchen. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy baking, in particular. Or making giant casseroles I can eat for days and days.
I
Chicken stew covered in dumplings made with chicken stock and sour cream.
I KNOW, RIGHT?

I'm moving around more, getting out just a bit more, rebuilding my energy. I've been more engaged with the book shop these past few weeks - not just going through the motions. I've gone out book hunting on my own a few times now, and I'm making plans for a clearance sale next week. We used to have them from time to time, for one reason or another, and it just felt right to do one now. Make room for newer, fresher stock.

I continue to receive amazing gifts of the spirit from relative strangers. Last Monday I was loading my laundry into the car and one of my neighbors, a retired old cowboy type, walked up and introduced himself. He told me he was sorry to hear about my loss and pointed to his apartment. "You need anything," he said, "you just knock on our door - my wife and I would be proud to help." I don't think I've ever seen his wife. I thanked him, and he shook my hand with both of his. The next day, a new customer asked me out of the blue if she could hug me, after hearing about Asa's passing. Of course I said yes. She wept silently as she embraced me, then thanked me and left. Something every day. Every day I run into someone who hasn't heard and should be told, or who just heard and wants to share a special story. Some days I'm better at shielding myself than others. Some days I need more shielding than others.

I missed Asa something awful today. It was raining this afternoon, and I reached for the phone to call him and ask if he'd been outside - he loved sitting on the porch in the rain - I looked at his number on speed dial and the sudden truth of my loss overwhelmed me there for a while. Lots of deep breathing ensued.

Right now I know Asa - wherever he is, most likely zooming all over creation - is reveling in being an expanded consciousness, and is truly beyond all pain or limitations, and filled with pure joy. I'm easier in my mind these days, more at peace myself, knowing in my heart this is true.

I never did completely fly apart at the seams, though I came close a time or two and I'm not promising I won't yet. I never did get drunk with my best friends, though I can't say that won't happen in the future, either.

Life is getting just a little easier to take, every day.

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