Moving forward while still looking in the rear view mirror

I am moving forward, trying to figure out my life, looking to the future. How is this possible? I am on a path that I do not have much control over. And going forward seems to be the direction I'm heading. It feels like a juggling act to think of the future and have the past an active part of the present. I think of Linda Blair in The Exorcist when her head swivels is around and around.

Robert is such an integral part of the fabric of my life. He is everywhere with me. This morning I was preparing the cat's breakfast. I used to just open the can and mush it with a fork. Robert instructed me to add a can of warm water and then mush it to a smooth consistency. Now I do this every morning without a thought.

He bought me the computer I sit and write at. The iPhone—my lifeline was another of his gifts. Can't imagine managing without it now. My GPS unit was beginning to become undependable and when I got the Cavalia gig he uploaded the TomTom app to my iPhone and signed me up for traffic updates. Can't imagine navigating any other way now. Technology was his domain, and he brought me along kicking and screaming and resisting in every way. I now wonder why.

Everywhere I look I feel his presence. Where he sat on the couch. The table we bought together. The lights he put up. The door to his room. His books. His, now my car in the garage. A pine cone we picked up in Maine. I even wear some of his clothes. Or think of what he would say about some of mine ; -)

These are the objects and thoughts that are of the past and very much in the present. Physical items that are filled with memories. And the memories feel like walking through water. Initial resistance and then you get used to the feel of the water and keep going.

Forward movement is planning to go out to dinner with friends. Flying to Philadelphia in January for a trade show. Making arrangements to meet virtual friends at a horse event in February.

I am walking along a very steep narrow mountain ridge. Any misstep and I tumble off to one side or the other. But I keep walking, one step at a time, knowing that even when I do fall, I will clamber back up and keep moving on. How can this be? How do I keep putting one foot in front of the other?

Is this faith? Spirituality? Belief in something that I don't even know what to call?

The business of grief

"Grief is a process unique to each individual. No one can tell you how long and in what manner you should grieve. However....." begins a letter from a Bereavement Services & Program Development Center.

I have had it with the "howevers". Grief counseling has made grief a profession. A business. There is a process, an agenda, an all knowing knowledge. A road map, a plan and it is set. With markers, and dates, and warnings. The idea of the individual seems to have been forgotten.

Their language. Semantics. Definitions. Interpretations. There are phases, stages, curves and wheels. And they fit you into them. Nice and tidy. Where is the individual experience?

I'm not doing well with the rules, guidelines and warnings I'm encountering in talking with various grief experts. Wait at least three months before participating in a group. Anniversaries are looming events you have to watch out for. You think you are doing fine now? Just wait 'til 3 months, then six months, a year, two years. These are big milestones. Think you have reached rock bottom? Well you haven't.

What happens if an individual has milestones that come at 2-1/2 months and 5 months? Or 4 months 1 week? What if you don't adhere to observing anniversaries and live day by day, moment by moment. I refuse to be stuffed into their pigeon holes.

I'm sure they have their empirical data to support what they say. But data is data. And to create a structure there are the highs and lows that are tossed out. The individuals.

Physics has shown that in observation of particles, the particles perform as the observer expects! Think about that. Individuality is lost, and you fulfill their predictions.

The latest last straw was when I described what I'm going through as a roller coaster. And a professional grief counselor corrected me that it is not a roller coaster! And she went on to describe what it looks like. Her interpretation. No doubt from years of experience. But NOT mine.

Excuse me, whose grief are we talking about? I don't know what I'm experiencing? I don't know how to describe how I feel?!?!?!!?

Two minus one

The words have changed. And language is taking its toll once again. Or maybe it is math that is causing this mayhem.

Where there were two, it is now one. Where it was us, it is now I. We are no longer....oops there is no we. It is now me. Couple? Nope single. Together is now alone. Mr. & Mrs. is now, can you believe this? I was addressed as Miss while  at a store tonight.

From Wikipedia a glimmer of hope: "The singular 'they' is the use of this pronoun as a gender-neutral singular rather than as a plural pronoun." So I can still be a 'they'? The entry continues: "The correctness of this usage is disputed." Hope is dashed.

Went to lunch with a friend and we were seated at a cute little table for two. Do they have cute little tables at restaurants for one? Walking through the bar area on way to bathroom I noticed several women eating alone. And noted where they were sitting. At the bar, you have the illusion of a space for one. At one of the tiny raised tables—yes a table for one. Perfect. I'll keep that in mind.

I can no longer drive in the HOV lane. Where do I sit in the movie theater? Dare I go out to a fancy restaurant and be asked, "Are you waiting for someone?" Or "Will someone be joining you?" How do I visit a museum or go to a play or a concert? I've always shared these experiences. Can I enjoy them alone?

The bed has two sides, I occupy only one. Meals are single place settings. Only my phone rings. I sit on the couch alone. Go to the grocery store to buy food for only me. Do my own laundry. And come home to the cats.

Friends are still couples. I listen to what "they" did. Everywhere I look there are couples. Is this our natural state? I was mine for my entire adult life.

They say time heals everything—well I'm waiting.

Bereavement Group

I decide I might benefit from a grief group. Promise myself that I have to connect with the leader or moderator, as well as the people in the group. If I don't feel a connection I'll go look for another group.

Get a referral from a friend of a friend about a great leader of a Bereavement Group. Hmm is that what they are called? Not Grief Groups? Bereavement? A whole new word to work into my vocabulary.

Major road construction and I drive by the address. My GPS tells me to "turn around when possible." I drive past again, "turn around when possible."

I begin to wonder if the Universe is testing me. How much do I really want to go to this Bereavement Group? It is so tempting to just give in and say I tried but could not find it. But to whom am I saying that? This is about me. I'm the one who decided to go. Complete my third U-turn.

Enter the meeting room. And I immediately realize I am the youngest person in the room. I'm panicking. Why I didn't see the road construction as a sign from the Universe "Do Not Enter."

Again the thought flits through my mind, How much do I really want this? I gather my evidence - I am the only one with color in their hair, with long hair, wearing jeans, with cute ankle boots, with an iPhone!

Okay everyone here is grieving a husband or wife. But.....they talk about year anniversaries of death (I'm at three weeks and counting). Of headstones and grave sites (Robert was cremated). Of visiting cemeteries and talking to their loved ones twice a week (Robert is currently sitting on top of the bookcase and we talk all the time). Of their adult children (no kids and I find myself relating to their children).

Oh I cry. The tears just start and pour down my face. There is something safe about crying in front of these people. But no one says anything. Or maybe no one says anything.

It ends, the room empties quickly, I'm searching for my car keys and look up and the two (older) men are waiting for me. And invite me to their Social Club at the Senior Center! I am not used to being a hot young thing. Grief? Bereavement?