What a journey. Grief affects us all differently they say. Take it slow, give yourself grace. I’m becoming more aware of how broken my brain has been and how I slowly adjust to the loss. I look around the house and find things that need to be taken care of, things that Dan would have done. I’m making progress.
I started by making the house my own, freshened things up, removed a few painful memories. I’ve replaced most of the living room furniture and I’m having a table Dan constructed, rebuilt, a bit more upscale. It helps me to feel lighter, more in control of the situation.
I continue to tackle cleaning out drawers, closets, collections. I sort. I donate. I confirm with the boys their desire to claim anything, then ship things off. Some things sit, I can’t manage them yet, but I know I’ll be able to get to them in the future. I can feel myself getting brighter, the clouds lifting.
And then some days I just sit, I read, I watch a movie. It’s all I can do.
I get out more, I have a weekly routine. Something on the schedule every day of the week. People depend on me and it feels important. It helps. The boys check in frequently, the grandchildren are my joy and I see them often. I’m racking up miles.
Occasionally I get angry. This isn’t right. I avoid people who probe my grief, I can’t share it and I have no space to hear about their sense of loss. He was my Dan, the boy’s Dan. The three of us manage as the boys also traverse this never ending path.
There is one thing I need to think about, to plan and execute. The action will be difficult. A specific request that must be met. Dan’s desire to revisit places he loved and, finally, never leave. But that will require opening a box. Seeing the contents, separating the contents. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that very soon, but it’s something I think about more often. How to make that happen. What support I’ll need. Who should join me on that final trip.
I’m climbing out of the darkness, my brain is healing. I’m working on it.
