This past weekend I had the unique pleasure of spending time with some fabulous women. As I have mentioned before, my late husband kept in contact with a group of women we affectionately called “the girlfriends” Friday was dinner out with a few of the GFs and a couple of boys from my husband’s high school clique. It was nice but where I had always been brought in to the conversation and up to speed by him, I was on my own. We did some wonderful dancing around the elephant in the room. Having said that, it was never intended to be a night all about my husband or me, but I would have enjoyed hearing more of the boy stories from the past. I did the smile and chat as I have become so good at. I did enjoy myself and there was plenty of laughter, but it’s a hard thing to feel so lonely with so many people right there with you. I found I missed the car talk. You know, the ride home from a nice evening where you recap what was said, how everyone looked and so on. It had turned cold in my area and the chill felt somewhat more profound as I took the dog out once I returned home. Sleeping that night I had the dream I have every night when my stress level is too high. I see my late husband out somewhere in public. He looks fabulous and from across the room or store or wherever that night’s dream is set, he sees me. He smiles at me, waves and turns and walks away. I yell to him but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Each time I’ve had this dream, there is someone standing next to me… I tell the person that the man is my husband. The person always says “Yes, he was allowed to come back, it wasn’t his time”. I’m overwhelmed with joy, happiness love and lust. The person sees my reaction and says, “well he was allowed to come back, but he decided he didn’t want to come back… to you”. So yet again a good restorative sleep eluded me.
Saturday dawned as a cold and raining day. We opted to stay in jammies until late in the afternoon. At one point we sat out in the cold drizzle wrapped in blankets, just talking. The need to hit the grocery store and the apple orchard caused us to shower and change. Saturday night had been set aside for a girl’s only slumber party. Jammies were required as was the understanding that we would laugh and cry freely. As each lovely lady arrived they were given a tiara and thanks to the great thinking of one of the GF’s we had boas and toe rings. We ate well, drank much and laughed and cried. This was a great time for these ladies to catch up with each other. Many times during the evening I found myself getting wrapped up in emotion. Because I was conscious of the fragility of some of my guests, I would just disappear for a few moments. Sometimes during the past 7 months my emotions are out of whack. I laugh when others are crying. I cry at the drop of a hat. Many things have gotten better as time begins the healing process but this seems to be not worse, but hyped. So I left my little party and dealt with my fears, tears and all the rest, alone. I know that my emotions would have been welcomed by these women. But the night and in fact weekend was not about me. It was about them and their connection to him. My husband kept all the school pictures these and some other girls gave him. They were the headshot schools take every year, these ranged from 7th grade to senior year. Most had something written on the back. Toward the end of the evening, I gave the photos back to their original owners. They are not mine. They are something between him and the girlfriends. The pictures belong back with the girl who, for whatever reason gave it to my husband. Now some may believe this to be a strange thing to do but I felt it would give them a sense of how much they meant to him and that their connection, lasted a lifetime. It may help them as they make their journey through the grief process.
I discovered this week that I am fine; actually enjoying talking about my husband and even his death with people who knew us. Knew us as a couple or individually. My issue comes when I have to share the events of our lives and his eventual death with strangers. I really hit a wall earlier this week just after a presentation of a check to the city council of my little town. I had decided to donate the starter funds for a new K9 unit. To make the donation official, I had to do a formal presentation. It went well I guess but I didn’t have the great feeling I thought I would. Why was there such an emotional let down? Was it the look in the council’s faces? The faces didn’t convay what I thought they would. But frankly I’m not sure what I expected. I have to remember that while this loss affected many, many people it really only affects me every second of the day. I had a rough few days, trapped a bit in a swirl of sadness. Thanks to a really great friend, I’m much better. I appreciate that this friend let me whine and bitch but didn’t let me wallow. Will this happen again, I’m sure of it. Are these stepping stones of this process? You bet. Will this get better with time?
I hope so…
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