Last night I was awake again at 1, and 2, and 3, and 4, and for the sunsrise. For awhile I was sleeping better. I even felt slightly guilty at “doing so well” – whatever that means. Maybe a growing sense I was getting both feet under me. But travel and fatigue and change of routine knocked me down. Now I dread going to bed. Days are hard – empty and meaningless. Worst are those darkest hours of night, when sleep is so elusive.
I wrote in my journal of remembering years ago saying to Larry that bedtime was my favorite time of day, when we’d get into bed and he’d gather me into his arms and hold me “safe.” Then remembering the time when the CPAP machine with the tubing and face mask joined us in bed. So many ways that damn disease changed our lives bit by bit.
I read recently that grief creates a hole in your life that takes a long time to heal. My life was so enmeshed with Larry’s in the end that the whole of my life feels like a hole.
But you carry on because there is no choice.
On my better days I fill my journal with all that I am doing, all that I have added to my life since Larry died. It’s helpful to list the ways I feel courageous, trying things and expanding my “life space.” Some have worked, some haven’t. I’m proud that I’ve framed paintings and submitting them to two exhibits. I celebrated my birthday by arranging a party with neighbors. I went on my first group kayak trip through mangrove tunnels. In the last two weeks I’ve traveled to my high school reunion (not a great idea) and to a family funeral (a difficult and courageous choice).
I’ve even started working again, because out of the blue an old colleague asked for me to do some work for them, and an old client called with a project. It felt good to put my brain to work in new ways, remembering my competencies.
It’s good to be with friends, and be social, sometimes. I still can’t handle larger groups and talking with people I don’t know well is completely exhausting.
Being exhausted is dangerous. It’s when the darkness descends. I have no extra stores of energy so my energy is depleted easily. That’s what happened last week. Too much travel. Too many people I had to talk to from the past – at the reunion, at the funeral. So many memories. When a well runs dry it starts to suck up black dirt rather than clean water. Then replenishment is needed. But how?
We’re in that time of year when darkness is coming earlier and earlier. Literally and figuratively. What do I do with myself? For awhile I was going to bed early. But now I don’t want to even be in bed. To face those darkest hours of night. Alone. More firsts are coming. Thanksgiving. His birthday. Christmas. Valentine’s Day.
I read an Iroquois grief prayer that has a line “a great sob has lodged in your throat.”
This is a disjointed blog post – bits and pieces, not a whole. That’s what my life feels like.
I sat with some of my favorite pictures of him – the ones that show his mischievous grin – like the photo of him engulfed in snow, just after he had opened the door to our porch after a huge blizzard and fell backward in “snow angel” pose, wearing just a turtleneck and jeans. That was obviously not taken in Florida!