That’s actually the title of a book, recommended to me by my grief therapist. I haven’t picked it up yet, but — I strongly recommend a grief therapist.
I saw this angel in my life on Monday. I shared with her that when I’d mentioned to a small group that I was seeing a grief therapist, most of them looked at me with disbelief, and one even commented “Still? It’s been five months!”
Yeah. Sorry.
Not over it yet … but I’m grieving as fast as I can.
Sorry folks who think I should be moving along more quickly — I just don’t feel that’s possible. I think the “one year” rule-of-thumb is very accurate — even if, like many of us, you knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later and thought you had somewhat prepared for it. My grief seems to swell as I go through the many firsts, and hopefully after a year I’ll be through most of them.
The “firsts” hurdles were high and thick throughout the holidays. I’ve hurdled many more since then though. An exceptionally high hurdle for me currently is the taxes. “We” always had someone do them, but getting together the pounds of paperwork is a dazzling and overwhelming task. Sorry Tommy — for not appreciating more that you did that!
For the most part, life is getting back to “normal,” normal being a new normal. Tommy the Night Owl always used to tuck me in and then do whatever he did late at night. I know he sometimes dreaded tucking me in, because only after I’d climbed into bed did I remember that the cat needed to be fed, I needed to take a medication, my cell phone needed to be charged, the gallon of milk was still in the car, the laundry needed to go to the dryer, etc. He’d always take on the task list, because once I climb in bed I find it almost impossible to rouse the energy to get up again.
The first few times I had to muster the energy to get up again, growl. But, I’m getting better at remembering to charge my medications, take the cat out of the car, and put the milk in the dryer before I go to bed now. 
And, I no longer think “oh, I’m going to bed all alone.” While I am, it is starting to seem normal. I allow the dog in bed (not that she gives me much of a choice.) When she snores, as Tom would do, she gets elbowed … like Tom did. Melvin the 80# cat also joins us. While the animals don’t pig the covers like Tom did, they lay tightly next to me atop of the blankets, sometimes pinning me down. That’s fine for these chilly nights, but come summer I may need to remind them who is really in charge around here (Melvin, it’s NOT you.)
There have been a few times recently, when I’m tired and not thinking clearly, that the thought passes through my head that it is time to get back to normal: the hoopala of holidays is over, the kids are back to where they go, it is time to return to the way it used to be … and then I am jolted by the thought that I can’t get back to the way it used to be.
While that has deeply and forever wounded my heart, I rarely have a pity party when I’m reminded of the reality. I’ve learned the same “peace” that my Mom, who also died of cancer, once explained to me. I’d asked her if she got depressed or frustrated with having leukemia — she always shrugged and said “it is what it is, you just got to keep going.” I now better understand that. I don’t like where I’m at in life — it certainly wasn’t part of the plan. I know I need to envision a new future for me and start finding my way there, but I keep tripping over the hurdles and that keeps me from gaining much speed in moving forward. But, it is what it is.
And I’m grieving as fast as I can.
