People talk about “moving on” after a catastrophic event…but where is “on” and how do you get there?
I’ve been trying to figure out why the days are getting harder to get through rather than easier. I know the realization of the finality of death has sunk in. Year three – at least for me – has been the most difficult. You are over the shock, have moved through the pain of physical separation and now, now you have to deal with the reality of never, not ever getting your old life back. As imperfect as it may have been, it was my life. It had a past, a present and an assumed future. It was anchored, pinned to someone else’s life. A life that had its own past, present and future that I knew intimately through shared experience or through stories told to me so many times I thought I lived them myself. And, you know, you count on that other life to coincide with yours, effect yours, bring its own unique energy to bear on yours - shaping the future. Without that other life, well, the concrete things are there – the past, the present, ah, but the future. Where is that?
My life now consists of only the past and the present. I alone seemingly cannot generate enough energy to move “on”. It is somewhat like Groundhog Day. Each day is adrift, a separate entity from the next. Not really building to anything, not going anywhere, just another day that you fill with activities. Sure there are plans, but they are not plans for the future, they are more like scheduled activities. They are pathetic attempts to create a future.
And I do fill my days with activities, but at the end of the day or in the beginning of the day, in the quiet of the house, the depth of my missing him, seeing him, hearing his voice is still there, still the main focus of my life. Nothing I have done or plan to do fills the void of my future. Nothing brings me any closer to a sincere joyful moment, an anticipatory thrill, a momentous idea about what I could, should, would do in the days ahead, the months ahead and certainly not the years ahead.
Have to go….have so much to do today….
I’ve been trying to figure out why the days are getting harder to get through rather than easier. I know the realization of the finality of death has sunk in. Year three – at least for me – has been the most difficult. You are over the shock, have moved through the pain of physical separation and now, now you have to deal with the reality of never, not ever getting your old life back. As imperfect as it may have been, it was my life. It had a past, a present and an assumed future. It was anchored, pinned to someone else’s life. A life that had its own past, present and future that I knew intimately through shared experience or through stories told to me so many times I thought I lived them myself. And, you know, you count on that other life to coincide with yours, effect yours, bring its own unique energy to bear on yours - shaping the future. Without that other life, well, the concrete things are there – the past, the present, ah, but the future. Where is that?
My life now consists of only the past and the present. I alone seemingly cannot generate enough energy to move “on”. It is somewhat like Groundhog Day. Each day is adrift, a separate entity from the next. Not really building to anything, not going anywhere, just another day that you fill with activities. Sure there are plans, but they are not plans for the future, they are more like scheduled activities. They are pathetic attempts to create a future.
And I do fill my days with activities, but at the end of the day or in the beginning of the day, in the quiet of the house, the depth of my missing him, seeing him, hearing his voice is still there, still the main focus of my life. Nothing I have done or plan to do fills the void of my future. Nothing brings me any closer to a sincere joyful moment, an anticipatory thrill, a momentous idea about what I could, should, would do in the days ahead, the months ahead and certainly not the years ahead.
Have to go….have so much to do today….
1 comment:
I wonder if the need to promote a "grief schedule" - 12 months and it's done - is a way to try to control the prospect of this unfamiliar and scary experience. It does seem to draw a hard line between those who have experienced a huge loss and those who haven't. A very thoughtful and honest blog, 2-1. I'm curious to see what "on" turns out to be - for you and for me.
Post a Comment