I sit here at 8:49 PM. Larry died at 9:02 exactly 6 months ago. Both a heartbeat and an eternity. I’ve spent the day in little mourning rituals. Right now, I have a candle lit next to me which I’ll blow out at 9:02.
In a way these “death-anniversaries” feel like a way to stay close to him. I spent the day doing “his” things. He loved walking by the water so I went to the beach this morning, a clear blue sky above the warm turquoise Gulf.
I came home and wrote in my journal, partly a letter to him about where I am now.
I ate some of his favorite foods – pizza for lunch, chicken wings for dinner. I had a tiny version of his favorite cocktail – a gin and tonic, before dinner, and a tiny sip of his favorite liqueur – Amaretto.
I wore his Black Dog T-shirt that we bought on Martha’s Vineyard when we went over to look at one of his son Cody’s jobs. I spoke with Cody today.
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!
And of course, I cried. But not only did I cry when I consciously felt the depth of my loss. I had moments throughout the day where I wasn’t even thinking of Larry specifically and yet felt sadness just leak out of me.
I had planned to take down the black ribboned mourning wreaths that have hung on my front door since the day after he died, made by a loving friend. I figured that 6 months would be an appropriate moment. And truth be told, I think there may be geckos either eating them or nesting in them.
I couldn’t remove them. It didn’t feel right. It felt like a betrayal of the grief I still feel.
And yet – if you ask me to rate how I’m doing, I’d say I’m doing just fine. Doing just fine, learning how to live well with the grief. Just like we learned how to live well while he was dying. I’ve read a lot of research about how resilient we can be, especially when we allow ourselves to feel the grief and also figure out how to move on. That research makes me optimistic.
It takes work. I push myself to expand my comfort zone little by little. I so miss being able to just sit quietly with the person who loves me, who I love.
These little 6 month mourning rituals helped me get through this day. I sort of felt with him.
Six months. A heartbeat and an eternity.
The candle is now out.