Surprise Grief

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.