Hi guys, welcome back. This was a big week for me for more than one reason. It’s hard to say one was more important or a bigger deal than the other really. More of the ying and yang of life, I suppose.
Monday was the first anniversary of Mister’s death. It was a weird day really. I mean in terms of how I felt anyway. The days leading up to it, the actually day itself, and now the few days that have passed I’ve really thought about the whole thing. By the whole thing I mean the anniversary of the death of a loved one. Obviously Mister was more than a loved one to me; he was my person, my twin flame. And it wasn’t like there was one bad day that ended this whole nightmare for us. So how are you supposed to feel on that day? What are you supposed to do to commemorate it, if anything?
I was lying in bed Sunday night thinking. And by “thinking” I mean that manic thing my mind does whenever I try to convince my body that it’s time for rest. I literally had such a range of emotions when I was “thinking” that I found myself not only crying but also bursting out laughing. Yes, actually laughing thinking about the whole bizarre nature of the day. Mister would’ve loved it. We had the best laughs at some of the most inappropriate times together, definitely about some of the most inappropriate things.
I mean, it obviously was the anniversary of one of the worst days of my life but was it “the” worst? Probably not. My Mister was gone sometime in the weeks leading up to that day and there are quite a few days of significance leading up to that day that, in my mind at least, were worse than that one. And to be completely honest, I think there have been one or two since that day that have been pretty bad for me. Which leads me to the question, what the hell is August 9th to me?
One of the first things that comes to mind when I think about it is “Congratulations, you have survived the past 365 days.” That was definitely the one that made me burst out laughing. All I can picture is the Publisher’s House Sweepstakes commercials where they show up at your door with the balloons and flowers, streamers flying around and loudly proclaim “Congratulations!!” That didn’t happen, in case you were wondering. What did happen was an afternoon of snuggling the most precious little preemie girl and an evening spent with my favorites who are always right by my side when I need them.
That thought led in so many different directions though. Okay so first of all, how has it possibly been a year already? I mean, on those days that the gaping hole of grief is calling so loudly to me, the days that seem to pass as entire months instead of one day, the days that I feel his absence so much that it seems the day will never end; how is it even possible that 365 days have passed.
And then that leads to, okay so I’ve “survived” 365 days. How many more days do I have to “survive.” Anyone who knows my love of math will not be surprised to hear that I actually sat down and figured some reasonable estimates out. See, that’s another thing Mister would’ve laughed at. He would know that I’m sitting here figuring out reasonable estimates of the days I have left based on math. And he would’ve teased me relentlessly about it.
So in 2020, the life expectancy of a female in the United States declined to 80.5 years from 81.4 the previous year. I suppose we don’t really need to get into too many details about why that is but I do feel the need to say that that is a shocking fact in and of itself. We lost almost an entire year of life expectancy in one year alone from this pandemic. Let that sink in. Anyway, back to topic, being approximately 52 and a half years old, that gives me approximately 28 years or 10,220 more days to get through without my love, to “survive.” But then again, I have made it through the first 365 so that’s something. Right?
Now let’s get back to the “how could a year have passed already?” question. How in the hell DID that actually happen. There were days that I thought I wouldn’t make it here to say this. But yet here I am, astounded that it’s been a year already. It’s made me reflect on some things I’ve been through in the past. I’ve been through some shit, guys even before any of this. The philosophy I’ve subscribed to in the past is, when you find yourself somewhere you don’t want to be just keep your head down and keep moving. Before long you’ll look up and realize that you’re not in that place anymore and you may actually love where you find yourself. So I guess without even being aware of it, that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m not quite ready to look up yet but hopefully some day I will be brave enough to again.
And how about the people in my life, the people that stick by the grieving even if we’re not always the most pleasant to be around? I’ll tell you right now that my circle was there and didn’t have to say any magic words or preform any special ceremonies. So that’s all I can give for advice if you love someone grieving. Just show up. That’s it. No special fanfare or speeches required. Just show up.
The day came and went. Now here we are, 4 days into the second year without my love. Now I have to say “My husband passed away a year ago” instead of wherever I was at before; a few months ago, a few weeks ago, a few days ago. I feel like it puts me in a whole other judgement zone for how my grief is progressing. Not that I let that be a concern of mine. I still think this is appropriate grieving; possibly with an identity crisis thrown in, but still appropriate grieving.
Regardless of the day passing, my week and my life have continued on. My beautiful new granddaughter has been discharged from the hospital after only 17 days despite being 6 weeks early to the party. And I made reservations to head to what was our home away from home for so many years for 2 weeks over my birthday. It will be my first trip back without Mister so I may have to call ahead to make sure there are enough tissues on island to deal with my blubbering self. Also, if we could all do our parts to curb this pandemic so that getting to and from some of my favorite people and places will be a little easier, that’d be great.