Grief - Weaving It In

I always write about weaving in grief but never about the way I  do it.  I woke up this morning with my usual drink of self pity to swallow - no matter how long it is I am always a little shocked to open my eyes to an empty bed.  Can't get used to not having Artie hold me in the morning with his physical body - watched part of a DVD while I ate breakfast (in bed)  - got up - GOT UP - thought of the sad lyric

Cause there's somethin' in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone
And there's nothin' sure to dying that's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleepin' city sidewalk and Sunday morning coming down

answered e-mail - writing the blog - wishing I was with my husband - okay - I'm not  - what can I do anyway.

I'm going to see a movie, by myself today,  and work on my story for storytelling class tonight. Tonight I'll be in storytelling class performing and listening and most likely laughing a lot.  Yesterday I had breakfast with two poet friends and went to a movie with with a friend who has produced a wonderful documentary about love - which somehow I am willing to see and enjoy (I have seen the rough cut.)

The sun is out, which since Artie died, annoys me - but I will try to enjoy it a little as I walk through Central Park to get to the movie theater.  I will notice the families and couples and those like myself who are walking by themselves.

I'm not depressed.  I'm grieving.  I'm taking my grief out for a walk and I will forget for moments that it is there and then I will remember.  Sometimes I am drowning in it; but I have learned in the past year and a half to swim and sometimes I am merely bobbling along on the surface of it.  Last night I went to bed wearing my husbands pajamas - covered myself with his robe and his blanket and felt as I always do - a mixture of sadness, comfort and stupidity.  He is dead.  I am alive.  I thought again about putting one of our mementos away.  Just one.  I don't want to.  I'll know when I'm ready.  No one else will. 

That's what I mean about weaving.  No labels - trying to make a better balance between being frozen and in motion.  Somedays succeeding; somedays not.  That's why I don't judge others; I am trying not to judge myself.  It is hard to be alive without my husband.  I know he had to leave - and hope that he has joy wherever he is - but am a little irked with him that he had me to comfort and support him to the end and I am left behind.  He says - as always - that I am not alone - that he is here; loving and protecting me.  I believe he is - but I am still in my human form - and his is gone.  I don't know how to put that burden down so I strengthen my muscles to carry it with a little more grace; a little more ease.

Here's to some lovely Sunday memories that might surprise us even if we aren't expecting them.