It's been a while since I've had a visit with my blog. Trust me, it's not for a lack of emotion (or opinion). Mainly, I think, I needed a breather. An opportunity to sit back and re-evaluate things. To unpack. To sort. To pack. Next Friday (February 3rd) would have been our one year anniversary. I'm sure we would have done something romantic and spectacular, as was always Mike's way. Nothing expensive or overdone. Just he and I being together. Instead, I will spend the day with friends. Not reliving our wedding day. Not reminiscing about good times. Just spending time trying to not think about the pain of celebrating my one year wedding anniversary alone. Attempting to replace my memories of pain with good memories of times spent with friends. In these past few months, I've spent the time unpacking, sorting, and packing. While I've attempted to unpack, sort , and pack the hundreds (literally) of boxes, bags, etc., that I have filled with our belongings - both mine and Mike's - I haven't been very successful. Each time I begin, something triggers too strong of an emotion for me to continue. For instance, last night, as I was AGAIN attempting to sort through things, I stumbled across a pair of Mike's favorite shorts. Khaki cargo things that always made me smile when he wore them because he had such nice legs! As I went to fold them to revisit yet another day, I felt a tin of Skoal in the pocket. The smell of that disgusting chew brought with it memories of Mike. That's all I needed to lose it. I backed out of the room, turned off the light, and shut the door to perhaps attempt the task once more another day. Instead of unpacking tangible things, I've unpacked my feelings, evaluated them, sorted through them, and then reorganized and repacked them into the appropriate sections of my mind. Some to be revisited later. Others to hopefully be swept from the cobweb filled corners of my head. It's an arduous task and one that never seems to get crossed off the to-do list. I remind myself of the happy days - closing my eyes and remembering walks by the river, visits to Stratford, days spent in each other's arms without a care in the world. I try and bag up those memories of his last days on earth and the fear and sadness of losing my FLC. Grieving is a strange process and one that I'm beginning to be very good at. Hell, everyone needs a talent, right? I've gotten where I can pretty much never show sadness or anger in the presence of others. I can usually spend the entire night laughing and joking with friends to the point an outsider would never guess I was struggling with such pain and grief that it takes everything for me to not let it consume me. I try to imagine what Mike would think of how I was handling things. Was I doing right by his girls? Was it ok for me to laugh? Should I be more saddened with his loss? If I go a single day without a tear and merely my thoughts of him, was that ok? Does he realize how much he means to me? Life must go on. That's what they say. But, it's not a question of must. The fact is, life DOES go on. No matter what happens to us, until the day comes that we take our final breath, life goes on - be it good or bad. That's one of those thoughts that I unpack, sort, and repack on a daily basis, always hoping that I can make some sense of it. How one is supposed to just herald on when the one thing that kept them going is gone. It doesn't get easier as time goes on, despite what everyone would tell you. It just gets . . . adaptable. You adapt to the sadness, loneliness, emptiness. You stop kidding yourself that it's all a nightmare that you will soon wake up from. You adapt to the constant rearranging of the boxes on the storage shelves of your mind. For now, I'll just keep unpacking those boxes, reminding myself what's in them, and then packing them back up again to revisit another day. After all, I'm a hoarder when it comes to matters of the heart. |
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