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.