Saturday, August 14, 2010
I keep wondering if August 14 will ever come and go, like any other day. I wonder if it will get better, if the grief won't be so strong. Was it because she was so sick for so long? Is it because I'm forgetting what her voice sounded like? I don't want to be sad today. It's a good day. It's beautiful outside, we had an amazing rehearsal, and I'm getting my hair trimmed today. I might even go out for a beer. My life is going so well. So I repeat: I don't want to be sad today. But it's tugging at me, wanting a dramatic, teary, sobbing, messy acknowledgment. I don't want to give in.
Perhaps it's because since she died, this is the first time I've been in the Northwest during this time of year. I have a chance to go to her grave, on my own, and leave flowers, to talk to her. In years past, I've sought out some sort of activity to distract myself, to help me move on. OR, like last year, I'm fine and go about life, and then break into a huge sob at work, and friends kidnap me to lunch. Grief and sorrow show up in such unpredictable ways. I am trying to remember what my chiropractor told me, to not ignore my process, to just feel the way I want to feel, even if it's just for five minutes, or otherwise it's going to build up and get worse.
Just not today. Any day but today.
I know she wants me to continue being her happy girl, happy with the way life is going, happy that I'm in a show, happy that I have a loving husband and our marriage is stronger than ever. I need to focus on that. It's a vicious cycle, sometimes...happy sad happy sad...it's exhausting. Confusing. Draining. I wish I could just put a stop to it. But I don't want this process to get worse, I don't want to spoil my entire weekend. So I'll let it go, a few minutes at a time, wallow in sadness and grief for a few minutes now and then.
During rehearsal today, I realized that this upcoming show is the first play that she won't see. She won't be in the audience, grinning and cheering me on. I almost "went there" but chose not to. At that moment, it wasn't about her but about me and my choice to take control. I am tired of crying during the summers, I'm tired of meltdowns and having a red, blotchy face. I just want to celebrate her life, not grieve what I don't have anymore.
And yet, for today, I have to just go through my process...grief. Sadness. Melancholy. And a slight trace of pity.