Things have been rough around here for quite some time, as I struggle to adjust to the reality of George’s death. The problem is, that even after six months, it still doesn’t seem real. We talk about him often, think about him more, and keenly feel how different we are in the wake of this tragedy.
Lily is a tough little girl. “She knows about the problem,” she told me. “Who? What problem?” I asked. “The therapist. She knows Daddy died. She’s going to help me with it.” It’s amazing how she trusts. She has a problem and this woman will help her. “I told her a secret.” she continued. “I told her the house is a mess.” And it is. We start and stop packing randomly and everything is in disorder while we move things from one floor to the other.
“What did she say about that?” I asked. “She said she’d keep the secret,” she said, and continued watching tv. Sounds like this therapist knows what she’s doing.
I’m glad someone does. I have no idea what I’m doing. I get up every day and wander around, randomly addressing things long left undone, and try to make progress. The list of responsibilities is long, and my patience is very, very short. I realize how short when a problem occurs and I fall apart much more easily than usual.
Lily’s birthday party flopped. So many girls declined we decided to postpone, and make it a farewell party. We waited too long to get the invitations out, I think. Lily was sad until I told her she could spend the weekend with my parents, where she is now. She left, saying, “I need a vacation.” She’s tired of me worrying about her. I called to check on her last night and she said, “Here’s grandma.” No interest in talking to me at all, or this morning either. I worry that being her only parent will make her resent me, we have no one to mediate our disagreements and I’m always having to say no to her. Our days of waiting for dad to get home are over, and I miss having the back up. George was gone a lot, but he had an unerring sense of how to handle domestic disagreements. I miss his good sense and his steady nature.
Missing George is really what life is all about now. I travel from resentment to loneliness to broken-heartedness to regret to horror and back again. In between I think about all the fun we had and how much we loved. George had a big personality and all his traits were outsized. Big temper, big heart. So he left a really, really big hole. Day by day I try to patch it up, keep out the cold of grief, with varying results depending on how strong I’m feeling and what I have to face.
Late at night he haunts me, so I try to get to bed early. I’ll admit it, I’m a chicken. I don’t like the feeling of being so sad. It’s not my nature and I resist it, but some things are just bigger than your will, you know? So I’m limping along, trying to act normal, putting a lot of hope in the future.
Lily yells, “You won’t do what I ask!”
“What?” I want to know.
“Bring him back! You won’t even try,” her eyes are filled with tears.
What in the world am I supposed to do with that? If someone could pray a person back, I can tell you that George would be next to me on the couch right now. I hope one day she understands how hard this has been for me, and how desperately I wish I could do what she asks.
So, the beat goes on. Next week my mom is having her hip replaced. My sister Nancy is being sued along with several other people by a person who lived under her condo in New Orleans for some leaking pipes, so she has to go appear in court. There’s a lot I need to concentrate on and so many people who need my assistance. They should break ground on the new houses in the next week or so, and we’re still digging through George’s stuff.
I go to bed at night and think over all that has happened and how I’m handling it, and some days I feel pretty satisfied. Others, I’m sure I’m failing completely. I guess in that sense I’m like most people, and certainly most parents. When George died, I knew it was going to be hard coming to terms with it. I had no idea how hard, and how much turmoil it would cause for all of us.
Acceptance.
I’ve learned its the hardest part of loss.
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{ 5 comments }
You know reading your blog I sometimes think the people of the 19th century had a good idea. It seems you feel much pressure to get on with things and people are wanting you to not be sad, but it’s only been 6 months. You were married for 10 years and actually knew each other for a lifetime. In the Victorian era (hope I have the century correct) a person got at least a year to grieve and if it lasted longer no one made you feel weird because you were still sad after 6 months. Its terribly hard to wake up each morning and know your life has changed irrevocably, and to boot you have the guilt associated with your daughter not having a father. Something of course you had no control over, but we always feel like we should. Continue to grieve, continue to blog, continue to plod along with life knowing that with each step you are actually getting stronger, and one day you will find happiness.
prayers for you all, especially during the coming week with your mom’s surgery and as you try to continue doing are the things you have to do. it is a helluva lot to get through and try to do the moving, packing, etc. so give yourself a little more credit. lily didn’t get her toughness just from george. hugs, b
Lisa, there is no formula for grieving. Everyone has their own process and time frame, but you already know this. Possibly you think, “The quicker I can get over this, the quicker things will be ‘normal’ for Lily.” I am glad to read you have found a therapist for Lily. I assume you are seeing the same or have one for yourself. I just suggested to a friend who is very discombobulated, whose life is somewhat a “mess” (personal, professional, family), and is stressed (of course this is different from a death, but nevertheless everything is a MESS), to take ONE aspect at a time and get some control over it. It’s hard to grapple with everything all at once. And I think sometimes we “think” if we stay busy, it will keep us from feeling sorrow, you know, stay busy and everything will be “OK”. You have a ton of stuff on your plate and it seems like you are also taking on the concerns of others. I dont’ think it’s selfish for you to take care of YOU and ONLY YOU right now. When you are as OK as you can be, the you will be OK for Lily and all her needs. Take steps, not leaps, take time and don’t worry about what you think you “should” be doing. My dad was married almost 40 years, mom died 3 months time after her diagnosis, not even time for either of us to mentally prepare for it and it took him almost 2 years, and he didn’t have an 8 yr. old. Thank you for sharing your strength as you find your path. Even as you think some days are impossible, you got through it. You are stronger than you realize. HUGS to you and Lily… one day she will understand and she will appreciate the strength you gave her, even if neither of you realize it at this moment.
Lisa – It sounds like life is progressing. Lily sounds like a wise little girl. You all are always in my prayers.
Have you ever seen my photography? Take a look and pick out your favorite – I’d love to send you guys a print. I think you’ll find something to make you smile…
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mobile-AL/The-Photography-of-Michael-Mastro/220198398014?v=photos&ref=ts
Hope all goes well with your Moms surgery. Lisa you have no way of knowing how long it will take before you feel whole again or normal some might say(what is normal anyway) Acceptance is good but still only a small part of the whole picture, You will get there in time(how much time no one knows) One day, One step at a time. Went to a funeral today for a dear friend waking her husband of 30 something years.Just so happens it was at the funeral home where I said my last good byes to mine 13 years ago. Knew I had to go. Signed the book got in line made it into the parlor half way there I just couldn’t do it!!!! I booked it out of there in tears! So dissappointed in myself for not being able to be there for her! Cried all the way home and came straight to your blogs for comfort! Thank you for still being here! All My Love & Prayers, Jeannie
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