Monday, August 13, 2012

Grief: Who Will I Tell About The Rain?

I was on a train from Boston to NYC.  It was sunny until we reached Connecticut.  There was a flash flood.  The cars at a station parking lot were covered with water up to the top of their wheels.  When we stopped and slowly pulled into the station the announcement that came over the loudspeaker was, "We are happy to announce that Amtrak will not be making the news today."  A few miles down the line the sun was shining again in its pure beauty or fury depending on how you feel about hot and humid days.

All I could think of was calling Artie and telling him about it.  I could have called a lot of people.  I did call one.  However, Artie loves (loved?) me in that special one of a kind way. When I told him something he either didn't listen at all or was utterly entranced.  He didn't listen sometimes because he said I used too many words.  He did listen a lot because he said I was the only person who was never boring.  I wasn't his first wife but he always said our marriage was his first real marriage.  We share so many stories and so many memories and so many private jokes. 

It's also about coming home.  It's wrong to say no one loves me.  People love me.  There's something different though about that special way someone loves you who waits for you to come home with great eagerness and joy.  I took it for granted some times.  I would give him a big hug and kiss and then open my mail.  I wish I had just curled up with him and told him stories as soon as I got home.  We always held each other before we went to sleep.  Once I went to a Passover dinner at the Rabbi's house. Artie didn't want to go.  I was late coming home but I didn't call because what kind of trouble can someone get in at a Rabbi's house?  When I pulled into the driveway after 1 a.m.  he was in front of the house pacing up and down.  Artie was so worried about me and I laughed at him.  No one is worried now.  No one is there.

I had a dream.  I dreamed I was with a group of people and I got a phone call.  Someone told me Artie had died.  I was sobbing.  I said I had no home to go to.  I couldn't face it.  Everyone was very nice to me.  In my dream this handsome young man gave me a big hug.  When he went to sleep he wanted me to lie down with him so he could comfort me.  I did for five minutes but soon got up.  He wasn't Artie.  There was no comfort anywhere.  Then I was standing on line at the airport searching through my purse for my boarding pass.  I started to cry again and put it in between my teeth because I had too much baggage to carry.  I thought, "I can't do it.  I can't go home if Artie isn't there."  I woke myself up. 

In my waking life I can show up for things.  I can change my thought patterns, use techniques when I care to.  I don't know what to do about a dream like that - after three years - I think I dream those dreams often.  My subconscious mind telling me how lost I feel.  It may be why it is so difficult for me to wake up and be motivated.

It's been a rough time lately.  Back down the black hole.  Grateful for the support of friends and loved ones but being sluggish and grouchy.  I am leaving Wednesday for Bread Loaf.  It's a writers' conference that only accepts 26% of people who apply.  It was my dream to go there.  I got accepted in 2009.  Artie was dying and I had to cancel.  Whenever I wrote something he read it first.  He was my best champion and my best critic.  I should be excited to go.  I'm scared.  My memories of that dying time are all tangled up with the present.  I'm still avoiding writing because when I finish something he's not here to read it. 

I guess it all goes on my forgiveness list.  Like writing the blog.  I've been thinking about you all and meaning to write but haven't done it in much too long.  I need to awaken myself to life again.  I need to find a home within myself.  There is no magick kiss to awaken me from a handsome prince is dead.

I'm very lucky that I have people who understand.  I got a text from one of Artie's dearest friends. It simply said, "I miss Artie."  I texted back, "Me too.  He's here, but I wish he was here...if you know what I mean."  He texted me a heart.  Knowing someone else was still missing my husband made me smile. 

What is needed is to never give up.  When my passion leaks away and I am left with listlessness and longing for whatever is on the other side it is my job to remember my granddaughter Gwendy blue eyes who is all life force.  We all need people and things in our world to pull us, push us, prod us to be the light we are meant to be. 

Thank you for your patience with me.  Thank you to those who support me and listen to me whine and make me laugh anyway.  Thank you for being fellow grief warriors letting love triumph over death.  xo

No comments:

Post a Comment