In seven days, it will be a year ago that you died. You’re on my mind more often now, and I had my first dream of you last week. I rarely dream except when I’m stressed or oversleeping. In the dream, I only saw the back of you. We were in our family room. I heard the garbage truck rolling up the street as it usually does at 7 AM on pick up days. I began to panic into action, worried that I hadn’t taken out the garbage yet. You assured me that you took care of it. I believed you, and I relaxed. You walked into our bedroom and the scene faded away.
So many things made me anxious this year, which sucks because I’m anxious to begin with. Thankfully, you’ve whispered in my ear from time to time, suggesting I relax, because things are actually okay. I’m not sure what you are to me now… a continuation of spirt that keeps in touch with me, or a figment of my imagination? I may never know the truth until it’s my turn to “pass away.” When I ask you questions, I often hear you respond in my mind. It’s a comfort. Sometimes you warn me about things. Are we communicating??
I am trying to keep a positive mindset, which is tough. Lately, my first thought on waking is, “another fucking day.” I must force a reply, “no, another beautiful day.” I have to give it a chance.
I’m reading a new book recommended by a member of my social media support group. I downloaded it from my local library and have 65% more to go. The author writes out against our society, suggesting grief is treated like a disease, something that must be fixed or cured by a psychologist or prescriptions. I agree. Grief is not a mental illness, although suffering can look like one. Yes, we will grow, because we must. But our loved ones should not have to die for this.
It’s OK That You’re Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn’t Understand by Megan Devine and Mark Nepo | Oct 1, 2017
Now that a year has come, I’m starting to ask myself if I want to be alone for the rest of my life. I enjoy my alone time immensely. But I’m becoming socially isolated. One of my grade school friends reached out on social media to ask me out to dinner on a whim. I declined his last-minute invitation, but said maybe for future. Others are starting to show interest, too. My sister provided me with an unofficial Reddit dating guide to read so I’m not so naïve. This stresses me out. You and I, we didn’t break up. There was no divorce. You died!!! My heart is with you. I met you at 18. We married at 21. We made children and brought them into adulthood. Then you died. I was 51. No one prepared me for this. Yesterday, I sensed your approval at accepting a date should the right proposal roll around.
I put my engagement ring back on last week. It’s too beautiful to keep in a jewelry box. Who cares what people think. I put our wedding rings together on your necklace you always wore. It’s in a special place where I see it every day.