Four Years: My Progress and My Choice

February 4^th is the date I.....what is the right word? It's sure as Hell not “celebrate.” That's got too much of an implication of something that's appreciated and enjoyed and brings happiness, which this day doesn't. Perhaps the right word is “honor”....or even “remember”....when me darlin' wife died. I know it's not the actual day she died. They couldn't tell me that, but from what they described (and what I saw for myself) of the condition of her body, it wasn't that day. I have my guess of when it was, but I'll likely not know for sure, at least not in this life. Regardless, that's the day that's set aside. And this time 'round, it was four years ago.

First off, I never thought I'd get this far, either in terms of what I've dealt with or even just seeing this many pages on the calendar turn by. For a long time, my goal was to get to where I felt like I could handle a single day at a time, and that was months in the coming. Even just a single year? Forget it! The fact that it's now been four (and a spare bit o' change) is still somewhat surreal. I guess it'll sink in at some point, hopefully not too close on when I'll be coming up on year five.

I wasn't sure (yet again) what to do on the day this year. The only thought that came at first was part of what I'd done last year, namely buying a couple of flowers and leaving one in front of the hotel room where she died and another at a place that'd been special to us both, where we'd renewed our vows on our 10-year wedding anniversary, where I'd scattered a bit of her ashes. As I sat with it, that idea kept feeling more and more not-right, especially at the hotel. It wasn't so much about getting “caught” as the idea that it'd be passing on at least some confusion and awkwardness to others, if not some of the pain. And yet no other idea was coming. One of the prices to be paid for going with what feels right over having a set tradition and leaving it at that, I suppose.

The day before, when I was out having a smoke, I was mulling just that over, when an idea hit me. I've got a friend who uses the term “God-winks,” and I think that fits a fair number of things. However, this felt more like what I'd heard of as a “God-bomb” in one of Stephen King's books. Bear in mind that, as I write it out here, the whole thing blazed into my mind all at once, information that felt like it was carried on a spear of light. The idea was simply that what'd happened four years ago was tragic and painful and sad, and that a lot of why it'd come about had been due to tragedy and pain and sadness. Doing something to focus on those same feelings again would, in some ways, be remaining in and perpetuating that same dynamic. Instead, perhaps, it would be better to break that chain, to spend some of the time that day praying for healing instead. I can't claim credit for having thought of that. I'm not that smart nor that wise. I'm just grateful I at least had the capacity to listen and not reject it out of hand for not fitting with how I'd been looking at things. And the more I sat with it, the more right it felt.

On the day itself, I left work a couple hours early. After dropping off my work stuff and changing out of work clothes (and feeding the cat, 'cause I had no idea how long I'd be about this), I snagged a pocket-sized notebook and a list of places and headed out. All of the places listed were ones that seemed to have associations with things she'd been able to face down and overcome or places where she'd grown. And, at each, I spent at least a few minutes there, just reflecting on what she had done and what those places had represented for her, ending with jotting a few notes on what came to mind into that notebook. The places themselves don't really matter, at least not to anyone else, and I won't share them all here. Nor will I share all the things that came to mind, as some are very deeply personal still. Some I will share, though.

I stopped by the place where we got married. She'd been married before, and from what she'd told, it had ended badly and painfully. For her to decide to take a chance on marriage again took a great deal of courage and willingness to be vulnerable again. There's no guarantee with taking that step, and it represents both a massive risk of pain as well as an equally massive chance of fulfillment and joy. I get that now, much better than when we wed. Another was the school where she'd gone for her medical assistant training. She'd believed she was smart before, but this was a place where she got to show and see it for sure. She did incredibly well, graduating with a 3.96 GPA, which was far better than I'd ever done at my best (and I told her so repeatedly). A third was a coffee shop she'd gone to for awhile, checking out a local meet-up group. She'd been somewhat leery of reaching out to a community again, and this time around was able to find a group of her own, and some good friends. That took a lot of courage, too, as well as being willing to look at what role she'd played in some not-so-great experiences before in order to avoid repeating them.

All told, I was out and about with this for four hours. It was a real challenge to stay focused on those instances of healing and growth. The sadness and anger wanted to come up, did boil up hard a couple of times. At least I was able to set them aside for the moment while going through that. The couple places before the last were hardest, where I felt the most turmoil and resistance, but after the last it felt like a huge weight was lifted. I went home and lit a candle for her, and offered all the energy and good intention that revisiting those places—and even more importantly, those memories—had pulled together. I'd hope some would go her way if she's still needing it. I reckon some stayed with me, as that's often how those things seem to go. And the rest, whatever's left over, I offered out to the Creator to share with those as might be in need.

I'm still reeling and recovering. It was an exhausting process. The way my mental autopilot has been making a lot more mistakes lately lets me know just how demanding it was. At the same time, I can also be grateful to have gotten to a point where that's something I can do. There will always be sadness and probably occasional anger or resentment about what she did. But it's good to see that I don't have to be ruled by it. If there was any question left, this proves (at least to me) that the grief and loss can no longer run or define me, not unless I let them.

Is this the final climb down out of Hell? The scramble along the frozen passage at the bottom, where the devil stands trapped in ice? The way to the Great Egress? I don't know. But if it's not, it's put me far closer to it than I've ever been. And that gives me continued hope.