Anniversaries and Grief June 18, 2008

Our minds are strange and wonderful things. They hold so much in the way of our thoughts and memories. Our moods and days can be changed in an instant by the songs we hear, fragrances in the air, sights we see and even the weather. Certain emotions and behaviors brought about by these influences can sometimes go on for weeks. Something’s “off” but we don’t quite know the cause. Sometimes we never do figure it out and just move through it, and sometimes a look at the calendar can shock us into clarity and understanding.

Today is the three year anniversary of Joe’s passing. He went into the hospital for the final time on May 20th. I can’t remember my sister’s birthday but I can remember that date, go figure. We literally lived there until he chose to let go in the early morning hours of June 18th, three days before his 40th birthday. I had tried to persuade him to “do it right” and die on his birthday but he didn’t want to wait. So instead, I chose to have his memorial on his birthday. It seemed fitting.

It was kind of fun watching people’s reactions to the birthday balloons in the viewing room at the funeral home until we explained. Most agreed that it was an appropriate way to celebrate his life and were present when we released them after his burial at the cemetery.

I suppose I’m making some progress. During the three short years we had, I worked hard to create an income from home so that I could be there to take care of him. After over a year of hard work and seemingly getting nowhere, things started to take off right before he went into the hospital. It was quite discouraging to refuse orders. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t pick it up again until just a few months ago, around mid-April, shortly before this anniversary came up. The timing is rather significant, I think.

I’m still pretty angry with him for not letting on that he was getting sicker and angry at myself for believing my denial. He knew it for a long time and had even dreamed that it was time almost exactly a year before he went into the hospital in May. I remembered when I found the entry in one of my journals.

I won’t go to the cemetery. Or maybe I will. It’s awfully muddy right now. I don’t have to go there to remember him or to “visit” him. He’s with me all the time and evidence of his journey here hangs on the walls and sits on the shelves, the artist who saw the artist in me.

If it doesn’t rain for a few more days, maybe I’ll go on his birthday and release some balloons. I think he’d approve.

Bereavement Dreaming And The Indivuating Soul