I have never gotten rid of all of Jack's clothes. I've spent the last couple months trying to "disposition" them. This entails going through them and categorizing: save/keep in closet; save/put in box - put box in garage; give away/find an appropriate charity; give away/put in a bag out on the curb for the next charity truck pick up. For many things in life, once I am ready, I just do it. All at once. I have found with this whole process surrounding Jack's death, I cannot just jump in and tackle things all at once. I wish I could do it all in one fell swoop, kind of like ripping off a band-aid, but I just can't seem to. I think one of the reasons it is still so hard to part with the remaining clothing is that I can still picture him in so many of those shirts and pants or shorts and shoes. Those are "his" clothes and the thought of them becoming someone else's clothes has been an emotional barrier to break down.
This week, I also finally got one of his financial investment accounts switched to my name. I have an appointment on the 14th with DMV to cancel his driver's license since the notice came in the mail (I was originally told this was taken care of by the police station in WI).
His name is still the primary on all the utility bills so I guess some day I have to get those changed over.
His bicycles still sit in the garage and his truck in the driveway. The sale of the truck will be tackled in the coming months. I'm finally ready - I think - to take on this job.
Funny how when someone dies, the one left still has to end their other life, many times over.
As I've said before, widowhood is not for the meek.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Companion In the Darkness
I had reason to go looking for a book tonight. There was a particular passage I was trying to find. When I found the book, I remembered it was the only book for the first 3-4 months (at least) after Jack's death that I could completely and utterly relate to. It stayed by my bedside for a long time. It's pages are dog-eared. I hung on to it like a life line. Knowing there was one other person out there who had experienced what I was going through and survived was indescribable.
For anyone who wants to know what it is like to experience profound and devastating loss, I suggest you pick up this book and read it. It describes the inner emotional, psychologic and spiritual turmoil one goes through. It also shows how the practical every day things can be the trigger that brings you to your knees (not theoretically, but actually, physically, to your knees).
The book is, Companion Through the Darkness, Inner Dialogues on Grief by Stephanie Ericsson.
But be warned. It is not light. It is not easy reading. It is painful. It will make you cry. It will make you glad you are not in her shoes if you are not. It will make you feel less alone if you are. It is her truth and my truth. I cannot describe how grateful I am that she found a way through her own darkness to eventually write this book.
Here is part of her note to the reader:
"This book belongs to the grieving, to the truthsayers, to the bereaved who have seen the light and the dark in one flash. It belongs to those who have had the blinders ripped from their eyes, who suddenly see the lies of our lives and the truths of existence for what they are. It belongs to those who feel crazy, because death has absolutely, vividly re-prioritized their lives. It belongs to those who feel so small in the shadow of such profound truth. It is meant to help those who are trying to fit the very sane epiphany of grief into a world that would rather have them feel insane, so as to maintain a safe status quo. It is a book meant to ease the pain of significant loss. It's aim is not to give false comfort, but validation for the long haul. It was written to reach out in the darkness, not to altruistically give hope, for there is none, and the grieving know this unequivocally. (Ironically, however, the hope lies herein).
After the death of a significant person, we are suspended in limbo; we are not the persons we used to be, nor the persons we are yet to become... For mourning is the constant reawakening that things are now different".
For anyone who wants to know what it is like to experience profound and devastating loss, I suggest you pick up this book and read it. It describes the inner emotional, psychologic and spiritual turmoil one goes through. It also shows how the practical every day things can be the trigger that brings you to your knees (not theoretically, but actually, physically, to your knees).
The book is, Companion Through the Darkness, Inner Dialogues on Grief by Stephanie Ericsson.
But be warned. It is not light. It is not easy reading. It is painful. It will make you cry. It will make you glad you are not in her shoes if you are not. It will make you feel less alone if you are. It is her truth and my truth. I cannot describe how grateful I am that she found a way through her own darkness to eventually write this book.
Here is part of her note to the reader:
"This book belongs to the grieving, to the truthsayers, to the bereaved who have seen the light and the dark in one flash. It belongs to those who have had the blinders ripped from their eyes, who suddenly see the lies of our lives and the truths of existence for what they are. It belongs to those who feel crazy, because death has absolutely, vividly re-prioritized their lives. It belongs to those who feel so small in the shadow of such profound truth. It is meant to help those who are trying to fit the very sane epiphany of grief into a world that would rather have them feel insane, so as to maintain a safe status quo. It is a book meant to ease the pain of significant loss. It's aim is not to give false comfort, but validation for the long haul. It was written to reach out in the darkness, not to altruistically give hope, for there is none, and the grieving know this unequivocally. (Ironically, however, the hope lies herein).
After the death of a significant person, we are suspended in limbo; we are not the persons we used to be, nor the persons we are yet to become... For mourning is the constant reawakening that things are now different".
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Life For Sale
Some guy in Australia is putting his entire life up for sale. His home, his job, his friends. After a marriage break-up, he struggled to re-group, so decided to try to start fresh. When I read this, I had a sense of envy. This sounds like a perfect "run-away" scenario. I've thought of doing this so many times since Jack's been gone that I can't even count anymore. What stops me? Two things: 1). FEAR - mostly of making the wrong choice and winding up even more miserable and alone than I already am; and 2). Jack will still be gone and I'll still be by myself no matter where I go.
When talking with friends about this today, one of them said, "I'd switch lives with someone for a certain period of time but I wouldn't give it all up". I thought of that on the drive home and realized I honestly can't imagine anyone who would want my life. Or maybe there would be a few out there who think it looks good, but then when they tried it would be horrified at how boring and emtpy it is. I'm someone who always tries to be grateful for what I have, but quite honestly, these are trying times - yes, even after 3.5 years since becoming a widow.
While most people my age are on their way to coasting, I am back at square one. Using a metaphor, I am trying to keep the foundation from crumbling so I can build something new on top of it. But, lately, I am wondering if I need to abandon this old foundation (and maybe the plot of land it's standing on), and go for something new. Something that is up to modern code, something that can withstand chaos, turbulance and all the elements that go with inclement and extreme emotional weather.
If you were in my shoes, what would you do?
When talking with friends about this today, one of them said, "I'd switch lives with someone for a certain period of time but I wouldn't give it all up". I thought of that on the drive home and realized I honestly can't imagine anyone who would want my life. Or maybe there would be a few out there who think it looks good, but then when they tried it would be horrified at how boring and emtpy it is. I'm someone who always tries to be grateful for what I have, but quite honestly, these are trying times - yes, even after 3.5 years since becoming a widow.
While most people my age are on their way to coasting, I am back at square one. Using a metaphor, I am trying to keep the foundation from crumbling so I can build something new on top of it. But, lately, I am wondering if I need to abandon this old foundation (and maybe the plot of land it's standing on), and go for something new. Something that is up to modern code, something that can withstand chaos, turbulance and all the elements that go with inclement and extreme emotional weather.
If you were in my shoes, what would you do?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
