Is it decadent self-pity?
Or is it winter?
Is it remembering the acute pain from this time last year?
Or is it winter?
Is it the weight of solitude and loneliness?
Or is it winter?
Is it existential dread?
Or is it winter?
Is it the soul-aching reality of his absence?
Or is it winter?
Is it nascent depression?
Or is it winter?
Is it reaizing it’s nearly been a year?
Or is it winter?
Bitter cold, a new schedule, and winter mean this gal has been introverting during her off hours. Saturday at 6am it was -4 degrees. I stayed in my pajamas painting and napping off and on all day. There were no long walks for me. The rest of the weekend had a few social components which were delightful and draining. That makes it sound like I didn’t enjoy them. I did. It just comes at a cost for me.
Bryan was the extrovert of the family–chatty, engaging, eager to make the party last longer. While I love people and entertaining, that’s not where I get my energy. My new job is great, but it has a very public-facing component which leaves me tired by 5:15 during the week and pretty exhausted by the weekend. I’m sure as I adapt, the tiredness will recede a little or I’ll have learned new techniques and tools to navigate.
Of all the seasons, winter feels most like being forced to eat Brussels sprouts as a kid. Yes, it’s good for me–to be reflective and restful, to look and fold inward. But does it feel miserable most of the time, too? Yes. Is it also a perfect excuse to stay indoors by myself? That too.
If I don’t write or post or text or call quite as often, it’s not because I don’t care or because I’m avoiding out of any sort of malice. I just don’t have a lot to say or the energy to say it. Just as winter doesn’t last forever, neither will the season of folding inward. But both are here for now.
And when I run out of words, I have paint.
Meal prep and planning, bed times and morning alarms take on new meaning, new importance as I find myself back in an 8-to-5, full-time job. I make art and jewelry in the evenings, on the weekend. I try to get walks and photography in on my lunch hour, extra-long walks on the weekend. I’m still me with a little more structure, organization, and income.
Coming home to an empty house those first few nights was pretty grim, though. I can’t chat with Bryan about my day, with all his questions and exuberant curiosity. There’s a quiet that’s a little unsettling. I turn to music or old, familiar movies to fill the space with voices other than my own. I’m still trying to get use to what it means to be in this house without my person. I’m not rattling around eating stale wedding cake in an old lace gown, I promise. But I’d be lying if I said this place wasn’t filled with shadows and memories that come out all the time.
My job is interesting, a bit overwhelming, but very good. I like being around people again. I think I might have been getting perilously close to old-widow-cat-lady weird. Greeting people and chatting with co-workers helps sand off the awkward edges (I hope!) Grief is still ever-present–sometimes a dull-ache in the background, sometimes a sharp stab, and sometimes a heavy, black blanket–threaded into these newest rhythms of being.
[If you get anything extra out of my writing, you’re welcome to leave a tip in my virtual tip jar: https://venmo.com/u/Rebecca-Lubbers-1 or if you want to see some of the paintings I’ve done recently you can check them out here: https://feryldesigns.etsy.com]
I’ve written about baby steps, referring to the movie What About Bob? This is the incremental approach to change and growth. Lots of little things add up to big things over time. And yet, sometimes there are big steps, big changes–by choice or by chance. This week, I started a full-time job. After the trial phase of a few months, I’ll go into more detail. For now, I really like the folks in the office and I’m a little overwhelmed but also excited about the nature of the work, helping people. That’s the professional side of the equation. The emotional impact is a little different.
You know, I understand why people get frozen after major, traumatic events and loss. The pain is everpresent. That’s no surprise and it becomes familiar. There are new aches and pains to be discovered, though. As life continues, growth, movement forward feels like a betrayal to the person gone. It’s not logical. It’s not grounded in reason. Of course the living person continues to live. But that act of living, of taking next steps, that’s another step further away from the life that once was. Growth and change means, would they love me now? Would they love me in this iteration? By freezing in time, by avoiding living and growth, there’s this illusion of staving off future pain. But that’s just it. The pain comes regardless.
Moving forward is an act of faith that there is something worthwhile on the other side of (through? with?) this pain. Maybe it’s courage to keep taking steps small and large. Maybe it’s fear of what happens if I don’t. I do know, two nights ago I cried really hard about the increasing gap between life before and life now. The next morning I got up and took a big step anyway. And I’m really glad I did. And it still hurts.
[Virtual tip jar: https://venmo.com/u/Rebecca-Lubbers-1]
And no, it’s not sourdough.
I’m a little melancholy tonight. That’s okay. I’m not going to force a positive attitude when I don’t have one. Tomorrow will probably be a better day and I’ll be positive then. That’s usually the way of things.
I do want to raise a proverbial glass, however, and toast the folks who have helped me survive this year–I’d endeavor to list you all out, but then I’d forget someone’s name and then feel like a real heel so I won’t. I feel heel-ish enough without piling on. Cheers to long walks at Mill Creek, river otters, and the changing season. To flowers and veggies and backyard birthday parties. Hurray for kitty cuddles, trashy romance novels, and bagels.
And here’s a toast to grief because every agonizing, painful breath is a reminder of exactly how much I love Bryan.
I have no illusions about 2024. Every year so far has been a mix of heart-wrenching and beautiful. I see no reason why this will be different in that respect. Hopefully the memories made will be interesting, funny, and quirky enough so I can tell good stories when I’m an old woman.
Love to you all. And if your new year isn’t happy, let it at least be funny.
Feryl Files 