GRIEF 101
It’s hard to write about the hardest time of your life—kind
of obvious, right? So why do it
then? Two reasons: to just express my
random thoughts somewhat coherently; and the maybe get to a place where my
thoughts and insights might help someone else.
I wonder how the rest of the world sees me. I have seen
people never recover from grief and keep it inside like Gollum’s ring. Maybe
because it’s a way of maintaining the lost relationship—or maybe it’s a
convenient reason to stay paralyzed instead of moving forward with life. So I
ask myself: when I become completely wiped out after a few hours of
constructive activity, is it intense grief or a copout? I can justify either.
Joan Didion in her book “The Year of Magical Thinking”
verbalized the same things I feel, but much more poetical and descriptive than
I could ever hope to do. Immediate
grief, especially with an unexpected death of a very close and loved person, is
so overwhelming you just exist in an alternative reality. Then bits and pieces of normalcy begin to
push their way through, and you begin to go through the emotions. Normal functional person by day, bowling pin
knocked over, falling backward, every night.
But it’s me today that I’m talking about. First thoughts at the hospital. The cardiologist describing the procedure of
placing the stents and believing it was successful. An hour later he’s back and slowly and
descriptively leads up to the punch line “his heart stopped and we couldn’t
bring him back”. After the few minutes
it took for me to actually understand the words I said “He’s gone?” (I may have
actually shrieked at that point). He was
gone. My son had just left and I called
him back. Called a few other
people. I’m pretty sure I was on
autopilot, in between crying jags. And me,
the professional, stepping back enough to how medical staff is trained to
coddle a grieving wife—warm blankets, gentle touches, kind words. And me the professional notes that while it
may be scripted but it still feels good.
And then I also know among the staff there are people who have similar
losses and this part of their job is emotionally draining.
Meanwhile, back at home, it was the worst week Waycross ever
had. Power was out in at least 3
counties, many many trees met unfortunate deaths that week, pretty sure 90% of
them were in my yard. Power was out 15
days—one tree had fell on a power line.
After the trees were removed, I found a large number of fiberoptic cable
pieces, so of course I will be last one in my neighborhood to have internet
restored. How much is too much? I must not be there yet.
The death of a person you were very close to for any number
of years feels like cutting yourself in half.
So many things happen every that I should be telling him but can’t. We should be discussing the storm and the
aftermath. Groaning together at the cost
of tree removal. Putting things back in
order. I wouldn’t have as big assemblage
of friends and relatives in and out supporting me and doing what they’ve been
doing: helping with cleanup, feeding me,
helping financially…. I don’t know how
anyone gets through this alone.
My first thoughts were “I don’t know how to do this”—but
apparently I actually do although I’ve never done this particular thing
before. Some of my random thoughts that
other people do this better than me, may because they are more accepting or the
have a religious support system and beliefs that help them see this is
perfectly normal and reasonable while I still see this death as completely
unreasonable and unfair.
Lots of conflicting emotions that cycle through each
day. I feel the deep pain of grief, but
also find joy in the love and caring of others who have gone above and beyond
with their help. I have several friends
help cut tree limbs and clear debris.
Another who is a buffer against the chaos for my dogs. Even the crew that did the cleanup was kind
and thoughtful during the day they spent here working.
Back in the real world every day so much is different. Dogs are good listeners but rarely offer an
opinion. My days are topsy turvy, eating
differently (first grocery trips are quite a shock—there’s so much I don’t need
to get anymore that I don’t even know what to get for myself.) I reached new culinary heights yesterday with
a tater tot pizza (message me if you want the recipe, it’s really quite
simple.) I’m showering at night so I can
be ready quicker in the morning (although it seems to take just as long or
maybe even longer).
I can deal with being alone; the only thing that scares me
is things breaking down; home maintenance has not been in my skillset. Although I did live with a generator going
for 15 days, I couldn’t have done that without the wonderful help from Julie and
Jimmy Leverett. I guess I need to take a
chainsaw 101 class pretty soon. Wood,
anyone? Running a special this month—you
can have much as you want as long as you cut some into little wood stove size
logs for me. To be continued.
It is now 39 days since the
storm hit; 36 days since Lamar took his last breath. No electricity for 15 days and no internet
yet. It’s all surreal. Up is down, inside is outside , and chaos
reigns. I do things and talk to people
most days and every night fight off the panic attack that threatens to swallow
me whole. I look at piles of stuff even
after a good bit was sorted and think I just can’t do that right now. I can do
laundry, grocery shop, feed the dogs and make all the phone calls that need to
be made. Funny thing—I keep getting
laboratory bills which I keep paying and they keep sending me reimbursement check. One of us is confused for sure. I will have to make a dedicated effort to pay
bills—if I have any money left after the tree cutting and the funeral home
total of $3900.
Part II
48 days since the storm; 45 days since the death. Power and internet working, bills still
piling up, some progress on organization.
The wonderful Bill Davis (Boatdock Bill) is piloting a boat in the
Okefenokee Swamp for our little group to say goodbye to Lamar one last time. I expect a resurgence of painful emotions
(although they really haven’t left). Found out that I am anemic and need weekly Vitamin B shots. And, additional grief this week with the disastrous election to be followed
by a disastrous 4 years of toppling our hard won civil rights and probably many
other things. One thing I am certain of
is that nothing will be better or cheaper.
Leaving the country is not a good option at age 78 with all my family
staying in the US.
