"Let's do the time warp again..."
I know. It's really stupid. But that comes to mind every instance this whole freaky, crazy time thing comes up in my mind.
There is one thing I have to admit. As complicated and confusing and up-and-down this whole grief thing has been, this time perception phenomenon has been a constant. Since day one. It has never changed and I am starting to wonder if it ever will.
I've been plugging away at life. Moving along at a steady pace. I still have those days I feel pretty down. But they are getting better...or at least easier to handle. Even expected. And I'm okay with that. I've accepted the fact that those days will happen. Hell, they happen to everyone.
Let's face it. I will never be the me I was 447 days ago. Never. No matter how hard I try, I can't have something that terrible happen and not let it change me. I've come to terms with that, for the most part. On a good day, I can even say that I've done pretty well at embracing this huge turn-around in my life. I'm making the best of a bad, awful, traumatic, terrible, and unnatural situation. I might not be the most graceful in my efforts. But I have put forth a tremendous effort to live as normal a life as possible.
But, still....
I get those moments. It hits me with the force of what I would imagine it must feel like to be hit by a train. Or it feels like that terrible nightmare...when you wake up relieved that it was only a nightmare...only to realize that your dream IS your reality.
I've been really preoccupied with school (which has proven to be a very nice, though stressful, distraction for me). And then the weekend came. I still had homework to think about. I still haven't even attempted to dig into that never-ending "to do" list I've talked about. But it just hit me out of the blue.
"Oh my God. What has happened? He's REALLY and TRULY gone. He's dead. He died. He got sick and he died. He will never be here on this earth, in my home, in my life...ever again."
Here I have been, going about my business. This business called "Life". Worried about bills. Going to school. Trying to do a good job at work. Struggling with the stress of raising teenagers. Grocery shopping. Car trouble. Normal every day stuff. And I have reacted to all of it as most people do. Car broke down? Man, this is a BAD day. Sick again? God, this really sucks.
While my loss and my grief is always there...always a part of me, it's not the first thing I think about every waking moment.
But I hate it when that realization and the gravity of it hits me. I've known it all along. I've known it, rationally, every minute of the last 447 days. Just when I think I've gotten so far with the acceptance factor, that thought hits me. And then I wonder if, even though I've allowed my brain to acknowledge it, maybe I haven't allowed my heart to accept it? How do you allow your heart to be okay with that anyways? Is it even possible? Or better yet, would you want to be able to wholly accept it?
Now I know what the phrase "it hit me like a ton of bricks" really means. I've been hit with that same ton of bricks over and over. Yet it shocks me and hurts me every time. You would think I could prepare for it. That it would get easier with time. But it still gets me.
This past weekend that same ton of bricks fell on me. I think it started when I had to see a doctor last week for my third bout with strep throat. I got the typical lecture on smoking and how bad it is for me. I expected it. All smokers expect it when they go to the doctor. She was a very nice lady but she wouldn't back off. I finally had to come out and say it. "I know smoking is bad for me. Believe me. I KNOW! I watched my husband die last year, I mean in 2008, from lung cancer that was most likely caused by smoking."
That's when it really hit. It is now 2010. November 11, 2009 marked the one year "anniversary?" (I need a better word for that) of his death. But it made me stop in my tracks. I have gone through a complete one-year calendar without him. 2009 was a year that he never saw. As 2010 will be.
And it's been over a year.
Where did the time go? It feels like he was just here a couple of months ago. At the same time, it's been forever since I touched him. Since I heard his voice. Sometimes it feels as if the little things that I knew so intimately about him are fading. Other times, I can remember every little detail with such clarity.
I can't believe he's been gone almost 15 months.
It makes me wonder if this time-issue is going to get worse in another year...in 5 years...in 10. I don't want him to become just another distant memory. How could he?
The further I get away from the all-consuming grief, the more I worry about losing his memory. I know I will never forget. To stay in that raw grief means that he is front and center in my mind at all times. To hold on to the grief means that he is still very much a part of my life.
He will always be larger than life in my heart. He will always be a part of me. But I guess I'm just scared to let it go. I'm scared to start feeling better. I'm scared that, with each new day that passes, with any amount of healing that takes place...well, he will just become some distant memory. And I don't want that.
Holding on to it, forcing myself to feel the intense pain every day, will only make me miserable. It will make the rest of my life meaningless. I can't survive like that. I can't go back to that dark, dark place. I just can't do it.
But I don't want to let go. I don't want to get better. But I want to get better.
People say it all the time. "I'm torn." I am truly torn. Let go, hold on, let go, hold on, let go, hold on. I can't do both at once. I guess it's a gradual process.
But I truly do want to be able to let go.
And I don't ever want to quit holding on.
