An ode to grief on a spring day...

A space to grieve, a chronical of sadness.
A thousand gratitudes for a comforting space.

Lending an ear when I could not speak.
Understanding stories I could not form.

Your warm light illuminated a path of spirals,
I searched for an end where there was none.

But you offered a soft place to rest and to wait,
For the fog to lift and the rain to clear.

Today the sun rises on a Spring day,
and I can see a place for me - without you.

Gung Hay Fat Choy!

Today is the first day of the Chinese New Year. I was told that the 'Year of the Snake' is to be a year of transformation. I spent the evening with like-minded friends celebrating the upcoming Chinese New Year by writing down our wishes for the coming new year.

This felt like the perfect time to reflect on where I have been and where I may be going. I can feel a transformation. For the last few weeks I have noticed that my grief has changed from a sense of sadness to reminiscing.

I have been busy - going to classes, making travel plans, slowly cleaning the house of clutter, and writing. The real transformation is that I have been able to do these things at all. I spoke with my bereavement counselor last week and it occurred to me that I no longer need that level of support.

I notice how different my life is now. I am not a caregiver, I am not a wife, I no longer manage the day to day of someone else's life, but I am still me. In fact I feel as if I am more "me" than I have ever been. I traveled so far, all by looking out the same window at the same tree.

I can truly appreciate what Mike had said about being happier because of ALS. I would not have chosen to go through this process - letting go was the hardest thing I may have ever done. And like that caterpillar I thought my life would end. The day after Mike's death I was truly surprised to be alive.

I can't say that I am "over" the grief process. I have learned enough to know that I know very little.


Cantonese:
Gung Hay Fat Choy! (may prosperity be with you)

It's been almost 3 weeks since my last entry...

The further I get from the last entry the harder it seems to write again. I was sick, really sick, for over a week. I was drained physically, which led to an emotional breakdown. Panic and anxiety subverted my efforts to stay present. Self deprecating talk and doubts filled my mind. I struggled to stay above the thoughts.

And life continued. The classes I signed up for started whether I was ready or not. Looking at it now, it was a good exercise to see how ready I was to enter the main stream of life. Well at least get my toes wet. Was I ready? I don't know. I am too much of a beginner to see objectively. Though, my frightened mind says - No.

What ifs and maybes crowd my thoughts. I recall an artist's self-doubt listed in the Artist's Way - What if I am no good and people notice?

I reach for Mike's presence, his strength to steady me. It is then I realize I have fallen back to the edge of the labyrinth. I was fooled again to think I was emerging from from the shadow of my grief into the center of that mysterious maze.

In some strange way I find comfort that I am back at the edge of the labyrinth. It offers an explanation for my panic and self doubt. I can acknowledge them as feelings, not facts.

Breathing in, I watch.... Breathing out wait...

A New Year...

As I walk around the house this morning, I feel disoriented, unsettled. It's a new year. A new year without Mike. It feels like there is a greater distance between us and it hurts.

I notice that I go for weeks without feeling the grief and sorrow.

As I got ready to go to a New Year gathering last night, I realized I hadn't done that in awhile - getting ready to go out for an evening event. It felt strangely like when an able bodied Mike and I would get ready to go out for an evening. It was a strange feeling, to miss a time so long ago. It occurs to me that I may not have grieved the losses that occurred along the ALS path.

I will sit and wait. And this too shall pass. Actually, it will not pass but dissolve into a greater understanding of life. Someone had asked me what my New Year's goals were....

To be present and to continue writing and creating without judgement.

So, this New Years Day morning, 1/1/13, I sit and remain present. Breathing in, breathing out. Writing and creating.

All this stuff...

All this stuff. I look around and there is a house full of possessions. Twenty two years worth of accumulation. When it was the two of us it didn't seem too unreasonable to have the amount of things we had. His, mine, and ours. Now it seems overwhelming, extravagant.

All this stuff...for one person? Pairing down seems impossible. I have sorted through some stuff - all the medical equipment and supplies are gone, and all of Mike's clothes (except for a few of my favorite shirts). I went through the linen closet - so much I didn't need anymore. Still so much remains.

Then there is his music, CDs, DVDs, blu-ray, audio DVDs, concerts, and documentaries, his headphones... It is mine now. It was always ours, but now that it is just me, it seems that these things were always his. I can't imagine keeping all this stuff, but I can't see getting rid of it either. And that is ok. I'll keep it until I don't. For now that will have to do.

Merry Christmas...

As I sit here listening to Christmas music, looking at the tree, I reflect on the last week. It's been a busy time of holiday gatherings punctuated with moments of quiet solitude. The gift of Christmas for me this year is realizing the beauty of those quiet moments.

The holiday music station has been playing jazzy Christmas music - Etta James, Dave Brubeck, etc... And I can't help but think of Mike sitting in his spot enjoying the music.

It's been a different Christmas, but strangely the same. What changed, besides the obvious, was me and the way I chose to perceive the Christmas season. A time of nostalgia, gifts given, opportunities to help strangers, and dark nights punctuated with holiday lights everywhere I go.

To tree or not to tree...

So I have been torn about putting up holiday decorations. Everyone seems to have their own theory on the matter, though I didn't ask anyone directly. A bereavement counselor thinks it is perfectly acceptable and understandable to scale back on holiday decorations. Some relish the idea of skipping Christmas. And yet others can't imagine a Christmas without cramming in every tradition possible. Me?

I used to love Christmas. Then, somewhere between Mike's distaste of an enforced holiday, depressed economic times, Mike's advanced level of disability, and a strict adherence of reciprocity, Christmas lost its joy.

There is one small part of Christmas that I had reclaimed a few years ago - decorating a small pre-lit, artificial tree with ornaments. I enjoyed going through the ornaments. Remembering when I got them, or made them. Each year it seems I added an ornament for some memory - The twins 1st Christmas, an ornament for each pet (newly added or recently departed), an ornament from a joyous child, or holiday excursion.

This is the first Christmas without Mike; but Christmas has been changing and evolving since I was a child. It occurs to me that it is all about perception. And although Mike isn't here physically I can hear him directing me to read one of his prints in the hallway.

Reality is not solid. The world is unique to each of us in the way we perceive, process,
and respond to it. You have a choice.

It is a small nod to the part of Mike that lives within me. This doesn't really feel like another "first" to add to my string of firsts or a new beginning, but a growing wiser. So, to answer my post's title - Yes, I will tree.