TheBanyanTree: A Good Cry

[Margaret R. Kramer]

The coolish spring drags on.  We haven’t even had an 80 degree day yet.  I
want throw open the windows and air the house out, but the plaster walls
keep the house cool.  I turned on the heat this morning.

There is a personal injury attorney’s office in our building, so I stopped
by to see if they handle medical malpractice suits.  Of course, whenever I
tell someone about Ray’s death for the first time, I always break down.
True to pattern, I started weeping while talking to the receptionist.  She
had one of the lawyers talk to me for a few minutes while I went over my
case.  He was very nice.  They don’t handle medical negligence cases, but he
referred me to an attorney who does.

I left a message last week with this attorney, and he hasn’t called me back,
so I’ll contact another one this week.  I’ll never figure out why people don
’t return calls.  Even if he was too busy, then at least call back and say
so.

After I got back to my desk, I started crying.  I cry whenever I think of
Ray’s last days in the hospital and when I start thinking about the
treatment he received which seemed to me so out of whack.  It’s a time I don
’t like thinking about.  I finally stopped replaying over and over again in
my head the scenes from Ray’s hospital stay.  The movie has changed to quick
and heart tugging scenes from my life with Ray.  I’d rather deal with those
than the ones from the end of his life.

I was having a “good cry” in the privacy of my cubicle when my coworker came
over to give me an assignment.  He didn’t get scared or run away when he saw
my tears.  He asked me what was wrong and whether he could help.  That’s the
right way to approach a crying, grieving person.  We cry a lot over weird
things.  The tears come unbidden, but we’re still functional.  We can snap
back to attention after a blowing our noses and drying our eyes.  It’s
important for us to cry.  It’s nothing to worry about.

My second job continued this week.  I was so glad by Friday night that I was
going to have a weekend free of work.  I like the job, however, and will be
sad to see it end next week even though it chews up a lot of my free time.
But what else would I be doing?  The second job keeps me from eating too
much and spending too much money.

Oh, I received Ray’s hospital bill from the VA Medical Center.  The balance
was $1,182.  I know my insurance does not cover it, so I called the VA to
make payment arrangements.  The representative told me that the balance had
been zeroed out, basically wiped out, since Ray passed away in the VA
Medical Center.  That was so unexpected!  It was wonderful to get $1,200
removed from my plate.

The weather has warmed up enough for me to begin working on my garden.  I
bought soil last week and my boyfriend brought over a couple of bags of
potting soil he had in storage for me.  Yesterday he brought over a bag of
charcoal and some lighter fluid for Asher’s grill.

He’s begun cleaning out and organizing his apartment and that’s a good sign.
He knows all that clutter is keeping him from moving forward.

I know I’m gradually moving forward, too.  We have a king sized bed, so
there’s a ton of room in it for one person.  But I stayed on my side, never
venturing much over on Ray’s side after he passed away.  I limited myself to
a small percentage of the bed.

I’ve discovered lately that I wake up and I’m in the middle of bed.  I think
that’s a sign I’m gradually accepting Ray’s death.  I’m allowing myself to
take exclusive ownership of the bed.  I don’t feel like I need to share it
with a ghost.

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

www.polarispublications.com

In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the
rustle of a wing.
~Robert Ingersoll
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