So this is the way
grief
and living with the
loss of the love of my life
works for me.
I am doing fine.
I still miss him but
I have healed – for the most part.
I will always miss
him.
I will always think
about him.
All kinds of
everything will trigger memories of him forever.
That’s just the way
my mind works.
But, for the most
part, my memories of him now are good ones.
For the most part, my
memories bring smiles.
For the most part, my
memories hold reminders of blessings.
However, sometimes all
it takes is something tiny to trigger an avalanche of sadness.
3 days ago, I went to
a wedding.
It was a lovely
wedding.
I was (and am) so excited for this couple who
are so obviously in love.
Except for a few
twinges of sadness when the rings were being exchanged and the ever-present
absence of my wedding and engagement rings were brought to mind,
…when the phrase “as
long as you both shall live” was said,
…and at the very end
of the ceremony itself when the thoughts of our wedding and being pronounced man
and wife flashed through my mind made missing him very strong,
I was fine at this
wedding.
I was happy for them.
I was happy I was
there watching their life together officially begin.
For the past 2 days,
while working it in around living my life of caretaking of parents and children,
I have been having so much fun playing with the photos from their wedding. They’re just so cute and I got some really
great photos from the day’s events. I’ve
been choosing which ones to post and working on editing and reformatting them.
But then I came
across something small.
In the summer of
2011, my parents came to live with us for a few months because my dad had
fallen and broken his pelvic bone and his arm.
Since my mother is not mobile, they both needed care. Rob and I took one of their cars with us to
our parsonage because it’s the one my mom could get into and out of the
easiest. While my parents were living
with us, Rob and I had to come get the other car because they both needed to be
inspected. Since the cars were at our
house, Rob started driving them some so they would be driven. Plus, their cars were cheaper on gas
anyway. He started driving one of them
every time he would go to one of the major hospitals out of town or if he had
to drive a long distance to a meeting.
He also placed a
stick of deodorant in the glove compartment (we
always kept one in our cars – it sure does come in handy!).
So yesterday I had to
get my parents’ cars inspected and I had to look in the glove compartment for
the registration.
I have no idea why I
didn’t notice the stick of deodorant in 2012 or in 2013 but I didn’t.
But yesterday, I did.
I immediately knew
who had put it there.
And it immediately
floored me.
You see, in 2 months,
it will be 3 years since Rob died.
I have moved from the
house where we last lived together.
I have bought a new
van since he died.
Every one of our cars
that we had when he was living has been cleaned out
many times since Rob died.
So everything that he
physically “placed” somewhere has been moved to another place. All of it has been donated, given away,
thrown away, or stored for me to finish sorting through.
None of it is where
he left it anymore.
But this stick of
deodorant was.
It was exactly where
he left it.
In the glove
compartment.
In my dad’s car.
And after almost 3
years, it was nice to see even that small connection to proof that he really
did exist and he really did use to “place” things somewhere…
…and at first it made
me smile.
But then I opened it.
And not only did the
aroma that smelled like him immediately turn the smile into sadness but what I
saw also reduced me to tears.
Now I have to say, I
can’t ever remember shedding tears over an underarm hair before.
But yesterday, for a
brief moment, I did.
It was just suddenly
there – in the middle of a normal day.
A tiny hair.
That used to be
connected to my Rob.
It hit me, in that
moment, that this hair was different from the ones that I asked the funeral
home and the hairdresser to cut and save for me (and I cherished those envelopes of hair – even slept with them close
to me for a good while).
The hair that they
cut and saved for me was from AFTER he had already died.
The hair that was on
this stick of deodorant was there from when he was ALIVE.
It might not make
sense to anyone else but to me, the fact that this hair came off of him while
he was alive just doing an everyday thing like putting on deodorant made it
more special.
And more sad.
The moment didn’t
last long.
I had to find the car
registration so Anna and I could get on with the
business of getting the cars
inspected.
I went on about my day.
Calling doctors and pharmacies to get the
monthly ritual of getting my
parents’ medication refilled.
Getting Anna’s college class schedule
adjusted to try and get her in a Biology class.
Discussing details with a good friend over plans we have today.
Washing 4 loads of laundry.
Writing 2 letters (1 by email – 1 to be mailed).
Paying some bills.
But I never could get
myself to go back to the wedding photos.
Even though the
photos made / make me happy.
Even though thoughts
of the couple’s wedding make me smile.
Even though looking
at their photos bring up new memories of THEIR wedding,
not old memories of
mine.
Even though I love
both of them dearly and want to post the photos as soon as possible.
I just couldn’t sit
back down and work on them and write about the happy day.
Yesterday, I just had
to make room for grief.
Because one thing I
have learned for sure from this grief path I’ve walked for almost 3 years now
is that on the days when grief knocks on the door, the fastest way to get it to
exit is to let it enter and “sit a spell.”
For me, facing
memories head on has worked the best for joining my past with my present.
So yesterday, I once
again made a little room for the grief.
All brought on by a
tiny hair on a stick of deodorant.
