With a Little Help from My Friends

It's only been two weeks since Bunny died, but it seems like it's been longer than that.  Last week was my first week back at work, and it was more difficult than I expected.  Not emotionally, but functionally--I felt like the cogs of my brain were gunked up with oatmeal.  Everything I did seemed to take at least twice as long as usual.  I was also sssssssssoooooo tttttttttiiiiiiiirrrrrrrreeeedddd.  Various friends and relatives pointed out that I had been through a long ordeal, I hadn't had much sleep in the past month, and I'd been through some pretty heavy emotional trauma.  Still, I got a nice, big bottle of ginko biloba to start off the new week.  Hopefully, it will increase my alertness and improve my attention span, which is suddenly shorter than normal.

Emotionally, I did pretty well.  I only had very few teary spells, but they quickly passed.  My dear, sweet friend LeAnne sent me a link to a support web site for young widows.  I visited the site, mostly to confirm that my physical symptoms weren't unusual (they aren't--it seems that almost everyone gets "Widow Brain"), and read some of the stories posted by the other widows.  Holy crap!!  Of course, once I read one, I couldn't stop.  The site was kind of like the proverbial train wreck--you can't bear to watch but can't look away, either.   So many tragic stories, each worse than the last--they horrified me, but also made me feel so grateful and blessed.  My spouse wasn't an alcoholic, an addict, or an abuser.  I didn't lose him in the blink of an eye, and our last words to each other weren't harsh.  He didn't leave me homeless, or penniless, or saddled with huge debts.  I don't have small children to raise alone or a passel of greedy relatives to fend off.  He didn't linger for years on end and didn't take over so much of my life that I didn't have respites on occassion.  

One thing I had wondered about was why I wasn't sitting around, crying my eyes out every day.  Aside from the day after he died, I've been pretty even-keeled.  The site also helped explain why: anticipatory grieving.  It was true--I know from the moment I heard his initial biopsy results that it was highly unlikely our story would have a happy ending.  As more time passed, it became ever more clear that I would lose him sooner rather than later.  Each step of the way, I'd grieved his loss in advance--but always where he couldn't see my tears or hear my cries of frustration.  To him, I was always positive and encouraging and hopeful--so much so that he was sometimes aggravated by my optimism.  So it's not that I haven't done the grieving, it's just that I've done it over the last few years.

I have to admit, though, I did do some crying today.  The chaplain from the hospital where Bunny used to work sent me some mementoes from his memorial service there.  The box sat on my dining room table for a day before I opened it--unheard-of restraint for me!  I knew what was in it, but couldn't bring myself to look inside until yesterday.  The box contained a guest log, a copy of the memorial brochure, a collage (see below) and a DVD.

I didn't want to be alone when I watched the DVD, so I left it in the box.  My son (Joey) and his family were here this afternoon, and I showed them the box and asked if they wanted to see the DVD.  Joey initially didn't want to (he's still in the fresh grieving stages), but Corey did and so did Trinity, my elder granddaughter.   We three girls agreed to watch it, and if anyone couldn't bear it any longer, she would simply leave the room.  Under those circumstances, Joey decided he'd watch it, as well.  

We started it up, and there was a big photo of Bunny--taken either before his cancer was diagnosed or shortly after.  When we pressed play, The Wind Beneath My Wings started in the background.   The photos flashed across the screen one by one, all with Bunny at his photogenic best--before his hair fell out and the color left his face.   By the time it ended, both Joey and I were in tears, but neither of us had been so overwhelmed that we'd moved from our seats.

So today was a sad, but cathartic, start of the week.