Lily on her birthday.
Well, we made it through Lily’s 8th birthday, but just barely.
Actually, she seemed okay most of the day, but I was really hurting. It was the six month anniversary of George’s death and seemed like a milestone to me in lots of ways. He’s gone, that’s for sure. No matter how well I know that fact, its still vaguely unreal. Especially when it comes to Lily, our finest collaboration, I feel my heart holding out hope that he will magically reappear. Watching her on her big day, her delight at being honored at school (she got to bang the gong 8 times in music class), the way she tore into her presents, her deep enjoyment at spending time with my parents, I missed him more than ever.
There is something sacred about sharing your child’s happiness with the other parent. George and I would shoot each other looks all the time when Lily was happy, when she did something special, when she displayed some new interest or knowledge. I can’t describe how fine a feeling that was, those glances. People always describe George as having a sparkle in his eyes when he spoke of me, and especially Lily. Its that sparkle that I miss so much. Now that its gone I realize that sparkle superpowered my enjoyment of being a wife and a parent.
Now we are facing the birthday party. Saturday, eight little girls dressed as faries will converge on my parents’ house, where they will no doubt flit and flitter and generally cause chaos. We’ll be missing George then, too. He always held up the pinata, and usually was the one to rip it open when it failed to break. (Why do they never break? Why do we always have to have one?)
Other things are happening too, as they will when time passes. Lily got sick for the first time since it happened last night. She woke up vomiting and threw up all over my bed, into my pillows, absolutely everywhere. I’ve never seen anything like it. She said, “I threw up on Dad’s side, I’m so sorry!” My first thought was to email him at work and warn him that things were awry at home. Automatic reaction.
I’m finalizing the house plans and the move is starting to feel really real. I’m planning a trip to New Orleans, which seems sacreligious without George along, he loved the city so much. I’m going back down to Asheville to see Shirley and supervise work on Nancy’s house. Lots of things going on, but everything seems hollow somehow and every night I lay here trying to fall asleep while I go over the things in my head I want to talk to Geoge about.
As time passes I see that people (especially those who have not lost anyone close to them,) are really expecting me to normalize and move on. I notice that mentioning George’s death to some people makes them respond almost compulsively that time is passing, I must feel better. I’ve got news, sometimes I think the work of grieving is only just getting started, and that the worst is ahead. Making peace with death is like shooting at a moving target, a lot harder than it looks and with an unpredictable outcome. I have peaceful, accepting days, and days where I can barely hold my temper I’m so angry.
Before all this I rarely thought of days as something to “get through,” but I do now. I get up in the morning, most days, by giving myself a lecture/pep-talk that usually includes some out loud muttering about “taking care of your family,” and “pull it together.” I think if I didn’t do that I’d be spending a lot of days in the bed.
Then there is the loneliness.
I’ve been divorced, and I remember the pain of that parting as profound. The failure, the ripped heart, the disappointment, all converged to make me obsess on my state of solitude. This is quite different. When you have a happy relationship, and you look forward to being together as we did (we got very little time together because of his schedule, and all of life was scheduled around his sleep needs,) you do appreciate your time together more than when it comes easily. We always acknowledged our good times, and mourned when we wasted our time together with a fight or unexpected interruptions. Now, I often feel like I’m still waiting for a weekend with George. I habitually note things I’d like his opinion on. I even bookmark pages on the computer I think he’d be interested in. Can’t help it, its second nature. This pain is all about missing my best friend, and knowing that no matter who I turn to in the future, it will never be George again.
Letting go is hard work, and its not something anyone really wants to do. Its very weird to try to convince yourself to move in a direction when everything in your being resists it. So each day I try to take one step into the future, even if all I want to do is stay in bed and dream of the past. Most days I’m successful, and some days, like yesterday, I actually go to bed feeling a sense of accomplishment. There are still lots of good times ahead, I know that, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy Lily’s birthday party even though I’ll feel torn at the same time. Maybe that’s the real curse of being the surviving spouse, making peace with being the one who gets to be there for the birthdays, the sunsets, the laughter, while your partner has simply… evaporated. I don’t know.
I intend to keep moving forward, keep living, keep trying.
It will never be the same, but I have Lily, and Sara, and hope.
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{ 4 comments }
great post. the only thing predictable about time is the calendar. the seasons of the heart change very much at their own pace. God bless.
Sometimes I think the word progress is ill-defined. I think progress means back and forth, not always forth. Good days, bad days, one step forward, two steps back. I think that as long as you look over time and see that there is some forward movement you’re doing great, even if there is more back than forth. Hang in there. Call if you need to.
I think you’re doing really well for only 6 months time. It’s been 2 1/2 years since I lost my Dad and I found myself crying off and on about it for nearly a week last week. You never know when the grief will overwhelm you and that’s ok. You shouldn’t be expected to “get over it”. You probably never will. Each day you get by and hopefully, in time, the pain decreases a bit but it won’t go away. You are showing great progress by getting angry about it. That’s a healthy step. George will always live in both you and Lily and that’s as it should be. The loss will always be real. I’m glad that you’re doing better though. I wish for you and Lily more and more peace as time goes on.
Time moves slow sometimes when we grieve,
before you know it another day , week or month has gone by. Grieving is done in our own time no one knows until they’ve been thru it. There is no hurry. You amaze me every day with your strength. You may not see it but we feel it. We also feel your pain so take it a day at a time….there is no hurry. Prayers and hugs to all of you. Again your post brings tears to my eyes. Hang in there.
Becky, John and Kristi
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