We pause for a few moments of sanity

In spite of my general dislike of all things Florida, Sanibel was truly lovely. I was thrilled when my cousin Julie invited me to go with her and her friend, Eileen, for the week. Our place was essentially right on the beach, and we took full advantage of that. Our biggest decision every day was: pool or beach? So we went with both--mornings on the beach, afternoons at the pool. I walked for miles, especially in the mornings at low tide.

Once I got over the morning pain in my knee, it felt surprisingly good walking on the sand. I wish we had "real" beaches in New England, because they are so nice for walking. I got lots of great photos, especially at the Darling National Wildlife Refuge. We saw spoonbills, a great blue heron, an anhinga, a reddish heron, even a couple of bald eagles.

 We took a late afternoon cruise into Tarpon Bay (also part of the wildlife refuge), where there are huge rookeries for all kinds of birds: pelicans, egrets, ibis (ibii?), ospreys, you name it. And, right on schedule, they flew in to their nesting areas at sunset. The best part of this vacation was that we really didn't feel compelled to "do" something all the time. We did go to a marina where the manatees like to hang out, and saw about four of them, which was exciting.

We watched the sun set at the Mucky Duck, where, when I was working at Biogen, the executive team went during their executive retreat a few years ago. Hans Peter bought a baseball cap for me there, which I still have, and wear all the time.

I was able, for a few days, to clear my head. I couldn't help thinking how much Philip would have enjoyed the place, especially because there wasn't a speck of humidity in the air.  Being away was exactly what I needed. 

Ok, now I'm pissed off

Maybe not in the full blown, raging eruption of temper way, but still. Anybody who knows me knows I'm a huge coward when it comes to medical procedures and especially dental ones. So now it turns out I need to have a tooth extracted. My dentist referred me to an oral surgeon who, thank goodness, is going to give me a general anesthesia. I'm a wreck. Of course, with a procedure like this, you can't exactly drive yourself to and from the appointment; they require that you have someone with you who can take you home. And who might that be? All my friends are working. Philip is gone. That leaves my mother, who, at 85, is great at moral support but not exactly in a position to do much in the way of physical assistance (should it be needed). If it was Philip having the procedure, J would be ready, willing and able to be his designated ride home if I wasn't able to do it. But J is not going to do that for me, and I feel funny asking him, anyway. We're good friends; but J has been having problems of his own lately, and recently admitted to me that he's been drinking again and avoiding everybody, including me. When I explained my predicament to the woman at the oral surgeon's office, she surprised me by asking me where I live. When I told her, she said that she, too, lives in Braintree and offered to take me home afterward. I was dumbfounded at what a nice gesture that was. So I'll take a cab to the appointment and get a ride home from this very nice woman. I will make sure to send flowers or something.

But he should have been here to help me and to hold my hand.

Nice moments can be brief, but they're still nice

I ran into Attorney X in the elevator today. He's a senior partner, and one of the nicest people I've had the privilege of working with at the firm. After Philip died, he took the time to commiserate with me; he lost his wife more than 20 years ago and is now happily remarried. He told me not to worry about following anybody's rules but my own, that "this is a very exclusive club, one that you didn't want to join." He even lent me his marked up copy of C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed. Despite the Christian references (I just skipped over those parts) I found it a wonderful book and quite helpful.

In the elevator, he asked me how I was doing, to which I replied that I was doing all right, things were basically going pretty well. He said to me, "You look a lot better, like you're getting back into the swing of things. It takes a while, I know."

So nice.

I'm Not Angry. Why Not?

What am I afraid of? Keeping myself under control feels like I'm protecting myself; but what am I protecting myself from? I like to think that I'm sparing other people from having to deal with an uncomfortable situation, that nobody really wants to see another person's pain. I definitely work hard to protect my mother, who worries too much anyway although she'd never own up to it. I have to be ok for her. I find it embarrassing and scary to allow other people to see weakness in me. I see myself as stronger than that.

Why am I not angry that he left me? I keep experiencing things that should have been shared, and it's just not fair, damn it. A hundred times a day something will remind me of a funny story about him, or something will make me think "he would have loved that." It's the essence of missing somebody. But am I angry? We spent so many years knowing that our time together would be short that maybe I got over being angry a long time ago. Am I disappointed to my core? Yes. Do I wish he had been here to help me when I broke my knee? You betcha. But I'm thinking that he probably didn't want to die any more than I want to live without him.

The truth is that my grief and sense of loss is all-encompassing. I'm not a spiritual person nor a religious person; it might be easier if I was.  All I can rely on is my own control over how I present myself to the world, my own inner resources and my own ability to put one foot in front of the other and do what I need to do.

So: what would happen if I let a few people take a peek behind the curtain?

Insanity

Just for the record, I will put aside my aversion to the tedium of talking about the weather to say, without qualification, that This Winter Sucks. 'Nuff said.

There are lots of forms of insanity. In my own little way I can qualify by my irrational inability to take his glasses off the dresser. The very day after the funeral I went through the closet, loaded up the car with all of his clothing and drove to Interfaith Social Services to donate everything. I knew if I waited it would never get done. What I did not do was to take his watch, glasses, and jewelry box off the top of his dresser. Joan Didion wrote about not being able to get rid of her husband's shoes--he might need them when he comes back. The top of Philip's dresser looked as it did every night when he put his glasses and watch there. Which is to say, it looked like his dresser.

After a little more than a year I took everything off the dresser, rearranged some things, put his watch away in the drawer with all the other watches (he collected watches the way some women collect shoes), moved some pictures over there, and generally changed the look. What I still have not done is remove the glasses. So sue me. I'm not making a shrine, I'm just, well, a teeny bit insane. At least I recognize it, so maybe I'm saner than I think.

Pandora's Box

Ok, so it's no secret that I live inside my head, maybe a little too much. Just ask The Therapist, who would probably laugh out loud at the "little too much" part. No doubt I'm one of his more recalcitrant projects, not that I do it on purpose. (But you don't try not to do it on purpose, either, would be his reply.) Anyway.

My dad always said that feelings are neither right nor wrong--they're feelings. And I do have plenty of them, I'm not without emotion, I just don't parade them around like a personal billboard. At any given moment, for no apparent reason, I feel the tears pressing against the backs of my eyes. I don't cry. Especially in front of other people I don't cry. More than anything I don't want to appear weak; from the beginning I was determined to show strength and grace under pressure and not fall apart for others to see. It's possible (I haven't thought this out) that I think if I let the feelings out into the open, they can't be put back. The Therapist is trying to convince me otherwise; he's probably right, but it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff.

I've been rereading the older posts from our travels. I had forgotten that I didn't put any photographs into those posts, so I'm working on that now, bit by bit.