we don't really know, part 2

Labor Day weekend is the symbolic kicking off of the fall; a new beginning time of year for parents with school-age kids. It’s a fresh start for academics, routines, sports, and activities. That weekend was difficult, both this year and remembering the same weekend last year. As we entered into the Fall I found myself bracing for a privately terrible journey, just as (I imagined, but probably not true) people would begin wondering if we aren’t finally over the whole death thing. I worried that I would spend each day reliving the horrors of the previous year… that it would be a mound of triggers that would leave me sad and separate.

And then, fall started, and I began to feel light and open, as though I was stepping out of some long dark tunnel. Now when I look back at last fall, I can finally see how hard it was. I was so deep in the presence of the moment back then… and the moment was intense and scary. This fall I am not driven by fear of regret, by knee-buckling compassion, by duty to find what energy is needed to rise to the moment we all dread.

This fall, we bustle through the morning routine looking forward to what might happen. We can plan for the evening, for the weekend, for months from now. I am buoyed by the clarity of what is important and what I value. I am wholly devoted to getting these amazing children through to their adult years with hope and wonder still in their hearts.

Like everyone, I feel too busy, and now I am a solo-parent. But at the same time, I feel strangely time-rich. I feel more likely to linger at dinner, to spend a few moments petting the dog. It’s not everyday, but I am more likely to make breakfast and sit down with the kids instead of standing behind the counter rushing everyone around. I am more likely to play a game with TE before dinner. I am back at the gym.

With my work, I’m more likely to sit through and read and respond to the stack of emails in my Inbox rather than quickly skimming through them. I’m more likely to step back and make sure we are aligned on why we are doing what we are doing. I am more likely to start a meeting by listening to how people are doing before jumping into the work of the hour.

And all of these things are making me happier. Happier this fall? Who saw that coming?

Thank goodness we aren’t always right.

I still miss Bart every day, often every hour. I still worry about the kids and my ability to do it all. There is lots of grief still to walk through ahead. I know now that I don’t really know, and I am sure I will find myself in plenty more dark days. I guess lately I’m also feeling that we will be OK, and we will not be undone.

I came across this quote recently from a Dean Koontz book. I have not ready anything by him before, but it really spoke to me:

“Grief can destroy you --or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. OR you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it's over and you're alone, you begin to see that it wasn't just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life.” {emphasis by me}

Wishing you a time-rich Wednesday.

NW