A couple of years ago around this same wretched time of year when I wasn't handling it near as well as this year, I went for a ride in my little "Holy Cow, I managed to pay it off car" (which my son then proceded to trash over the next year, neccessitating the new car note, dammit) and I turned on the radio. I lived in a rural area, was driving in a more rural area, and not much was coming in-except somehow a song from what seemed like forever ago; Jimmy Durante sounded somehow just right in the scratchy in/out reception as he sang:
"Smile, though your heart is breaking/smile even though it's aching..."
How I'd love it if that happened again!
I was taught in one of my chaplaincy required courses that there are four stages to grief, and that those stages are rarely experienced consecutively. I knew that from personal experience, and knew I would be using that knowledge in aftercare for "the loved ones."
We were taught that anniversaries might bring letters or phone calls from "the loved ones" and that if those letters/calls came we could take that as a measure of our success in having made a connection with "the loved ones."
I knew that already, too.
If you are a regular reader, you know that I originally trained in abnormal psychology because my presentient father hoped I would become the first and greatest nut-job serial killer profiler; his hopes for me included ending once and for all the so-called myth of criminal insanity.
Truth 'bout that is that we both wanted to see his second wife go down-HARD, and he was counting on me to get the job done. I confess I kept working on that one for years, long after he'd died.
And she will-trust me. Only not here, I'm thinking. Some, like Alice and Crusty (Alice being the second wife-Pop loved it that I called her 'Alice Capone' and Uncle Bill thought it was appropriate that I figured her out before I was ten. They really should not have left all those True Detective mags lying about!) never go down while they have skin-their end is in God's hands, truly.
Any road, I knew all about anniversaries.
And grief; how just when you think, wow, maybe that's done-BAM! The tears/rage/vehement denial come crashing back with tsunami like force.
Some years you unknowing go all numb; a few days after the date you notice a calendar and say, "Hey!" Cool, you think, made it through that one! (But you didn't, not really, because later when you read back over something you wrote in the weeks leading up to the date you see you only thought you made it through...)
Other years the date begins to announce itself in myriad ways-you notice the clock-"Oh hell, 0627/1827, here it comes..." Important appointments have to be made on that day-"Ok, the doctor can get you in on his last appointment hour on the 27th."
The number crops up everywhere-license plates, billboards, ticket stubs, bloody receipts!
The only way to get away from date reminders is to cave dive, only even there it will bash you over the head. Somehow. Someway.
So, you take steps to avoid inflicting your pain on others. Sometimes those steps even succeed.
At my age, I've rather a lot of dates to remember/avoid...
My motto though, has always been "That was then-this is now" and I've tried really-really-really hard to keep thing in perspective. You know, learn and move on.
But some things you never get past/over/through. And the scars show sometimes, although you try not to let them.
All of the above as a typically akward attempt to apologize to any readers I may have for inflicting my dire circumstances over the past week.
Um, prayers/good vibes/positive thoughts would be greatly appreciated. (Gods, I'm such an unashamed begger!)
I've lost my sense of humour, could you please pray for me that I find it-SOON?:)