TheBanyanTree: Joy

[Margaret R. Kramer]

A member of my grief group stated yesterday that the early grief, although
so very painful, is beautiful in its way.  It’s so raw, so griping, and so
intense, and I agree with her, you never feel as close to your loved one as
you do in those first few days of mourning.  As the shock from the dearth
wears off and reality sets in, grief tears at your soul.  Every pore in your
body screams for the loved one.

And then it begins to fade.  Life begins to overrun that raw chaotic
emotion.  I left a big chunk of my initial grief behind when I went back to
work.  I had to pay bills.  I had to buy dog food.  I had to wash the
dishes.  I had to keep moving.

I still have grief bursts, several times a day.  I have a good cry at my
desk at work, in the bathroom, in my car, and when I go out to cemetery, I
kneel before Ray’s stone and caress it like it is Ray come back to life.  It
seems like the tears will never stop, but then they do, suddenly.  I get up
and look around.  Ray’s stone is a stone and not a living person.  The wind
is blowing over the graves.  And an airplane is flying overheard.  Just like
that, I’m back in the real world again, and my eyes are dry.

A couple of milestones were established this past week.  First, I cooked a
meal for myself instead of eating a TV dinner.  That was major for me.  I
love to cook and nothing is worse than cooking for one person.  But I’m also
sick of eating processed foods.  So I made a casserole.  And it was good.

Second, I decided I didn’t have to stay home after dinner on week nights
just because Ray and I always stayed home.  It was time to change my
schedule a little bit.  So, Shadow and I took a walk around Lake Como one
evening.  It wasn’t the greatest weather, it was cloudy and chilly, but
there were lots of people out and about, just like us, enjoying an evening
walk.

My days fly by just like before Ray died.  Another part of initial grief is
that time moves as slow as molasses.  Every minute that passes seems like an
hour.  What I am going to do without Ray?  How am I going to fill up my
time?  What is my purpose and focus?  I’d get up in the morning and not know
what to do.  I’d have all my housework done before 7:00 am and a whole empty
day stretched  ahead.

Now my day isn’t big enough.  I don’t think I’m doing anything different,
but I’m gradually realizing that I can still incorporate Ray into my day and
miss him beyond description, but he doesn’t have to be my focus.

When my co-worker asked me what I wanted to do with five vacation days that
I left and I had to use before the end of June, I didn’t know what to do.  I
thought about traveling somewhere.  I have traveled by myself in the past
and I’m not afraid go alone, but mentally I’m not ready to go anywhere.  Or
financially.  I thought about Vegas, because I always wanted to go there.
Ray always vetoed that selection, because he said, “You don’t gamble.”
Yeah, I know, but there are other things to do using Vegas as a base.

It seems a casino is comforting to grieving people.  There are lots of
people, but interaction isn’t necessary.  My dad played bingo constantly
after my mother died, there were no casinos in Minnesota at that time.  He
liked the feeling of people around him.  I know of other people who have
recently lost spouses that head to the casinos.  Well, Ray isn’t here with
me, but I sure don’t feel like going to a casino.  Casinos rank right up
there with TV – BORING!

But Vegas might be interesting.  I could get some great photos.  I also
thought about going to Glacier National Park, Yellowstone, or going to New
York City or Washington, DC.  There are lots of possibilities.

I decided to take a series of Mondays off, beginning in the middle of April
through Memorial Day.  That will be six Mondays.  Six Mondays in which I can
begin to get my garden and yard ready for summer.  Maybe I’ll feel like
going through Ray’s things.  And maybe not.

My life without Ray will eventually incorporate new people.  I know that.
But I still have a difficult time going beyond my small group.  I’m
extremely introverted.  There are people I should call, but I hate talking
on the phone.  I hate doing the female bonding thing.  I hate talking just
to fill the silence.  I enjoy being by myself.  Even without my Ray, I’m not
afraid to be alone.  He’s here with me anyway – all the time.

This week, for the first time since Ray died, I felt joy.  I never thought I
would ever feel that emotion again.  Grief is like a bullet proof vest.
Grief doesn’t allow much emotion other than extreme sadness.  It’s like a
dark cloud which covers everything that you think and do.  But joy  happened
to me several times this week.  The bullet proof vest was pierced a few
times.

Last Sunday, I drove Ray’s flower van for the first time since I took him to
the hospital in it on February 6.  He had only driven it once before he went
into the hospital, so I didn’t associate it too much with him.  And it was
nice to drive it.  My son and I put the boys’ bikes in the back and while
Asher and I walked, the boys rode their bikes for the first time this
spring.  I love walking and I love being with my boys.

The boys have been on spring break from school this week, but the third
grade grandson had a bowling night with the third grade classes from his
school.  The alley is an old one, it didn’t even have computerized scoring
and it only had eight lanes.  But the kids had the whole place to
themselves.  There were pizza and rice krispie bars to eat.  I didn’t bowl,
but I enjoyed watching the interaction among the kids.  Much better than a
casino!

And finally, what always makes me go ooh and aah, is that the tulips and
daffodils and crocuses are coming up, along with other plants in the garden.
Ray was the architect and built the framework, while I filled the frame with
flowers.  We both enjoyed the first green sprouts of spring.  We’re enjoying
it together this spring, too, just in a different way.

Spring, even though Minnesota springs are not that great, always holds
promise.  And even through my grief, I can still feel that promise and hope
and joy.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net
margaret.kramer at polarispublications.com

www.polarispublications.com

There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we
don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but
have to let go.
~Unknown
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