Saturday, December 29, 2012

The Christmas Stockings

Christmas has come and gone.  I made the best of it and even planned things I like to do.  I drank my way through Christmas eve in a tipsy stupor until I fell asleep.  There were some very sad moments, but none so sad as my initial attempt to decorate when I opened a box and  came across all of our Christmas stockings. I didn't know what to do with these stockings physically.  Do I hang mine?  There's nobody to fill it.  Do I get rid of Larry's?  Do I send his children theirs?  Do I donate these items?  There came a flood of emotions for the shifting relationships between me and his children.  His daughter did not invite me to the grandchildren's birthday parties and I have waited 5 separate days for her to pick up half of Larry's ashes but she never showed and never left an explanation.  At the funeral, she acted like I killed Larry.  I wished her a happy birthday on Facebook and sent a gift card for Christmas.  I'm keeping the lines of communication open mostly because Larry would like it that way.

My relationship with Larry's autistic son, Jordan, however, has shifted for the better.  Because Jordan is no longer staying overnight every other weekend, Jordan realizes that it is now a privilege to spend time together and he is on his best behavior.  We spent time together for our annual Frazer Family Christmas shopping and in a quiet moment, I asked him if he missed his Dad. He said, "Yes" but then added, "But you miss him most of all".  I was astounded that he was able to acknowledge that the relationship of a husband and wife is different than other family members.  It was sweet. 

Relationships with his friends have shifted. My social life was filled with Larry's friends for the past ten years and that has completely stopped.  I don't hear from any of Larry's friends. 

Since the hurricane, however, I realize how kind my immediate neighbors have been, tackling robbers and getting relatives with chainsaws to help me with a fallen tree.  Also kind have been my dogwalking friends from the neighborhood with whom I have spent the past 6 or 7 New Year's Eves.  This year, because my house has a dining room and as an acknowledgement to Larry, the party will be mostly at my home.  Larry would be thrilled. 

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

A Strange Juxtaposition

While the world is busy forgetting about Larry, nine months later I am still inundated with daily reminders.  I went to a financial place to transfer Larry's retirement funds to my name.  The woman at the desk was young and seemingly unmarried.  As I have gotten used to, she did not say, "I'm sorry for your loss." but simply went about her business.  While closing accounts, and transferring funds, nobody asks about Larry, a man who had a fairly big career here in Princeton and an even bigger personality.  To the people that I now interact with, he is just a deceased person.  Amongst most people that knew him, they do not mention him for fear of upsetting me.  I do not hear from his friends or people who might still hold him dear in their hearts as I still do.

My daily life is filled with constant reminders, however.  I was filing at work and came across a class roster for a class I was supposed to teach.  The date read March 14.  Was I really teaching 6 weeks before Larry died, I asked myself.  Yesterday, I was in a newsletter program and there is still a little blurb with his picture that says he is unsubscribed (by me) that catches me by surprise from time to time.  Today, I saw that he was invited to a friends' play because I have not dismantled his Facebook page. I have not dismantled it because I still can't bear to have no trace of him. 


Sunday, December 9, 2012

Christmas t-shirt

I have not written in a long, long time.  Mostly due to being very inundated with new clients and new things to learn.  Sounds good and it mostly is, but the truth is this experience of watching my life partner slip away has left me with lots of vulnerability and anxiety.  I feel like I'm 5 years old living in this adult world.  I really just want my Mommy but instead, I put on a blazer and pretend that I know how to fix your website or get you more Facebook followers, create a promotional video for your business etc.

This multi-tasking of skills can be fun, but it leaves me spread thin across industries sometimes and not knowing where to focus my knowledge. There have been many late nights and early mornings working on something new and I'm slightly uncertain about the way I'm going about it.  That has created a lot of anxiety for me as business amps up.  I'm physically and emotionally exhausted still and frankly, tired of grief.

The other reason that I haven't written is that every day, I go through such a cycle of emotions that I think about sharing but I don't even know where to start, so even in blogging, I feel overwhelmed.

I heard the holidays can be hard and so this is where I am.  I am flooded with remembrances of goodbyes.  Last year at this time, people were beginning to say their goodbyes to Larry.  I remember one dinner with a local couple.  I knew it would be our last together.  Larry picked the restaurant.  The place was crowded and the food mediocre and I wanted it to be special and it just wasn't.  I wanted that whole holiday season to be special and that was very much an impossible fantasy.  I remember I purchased the softest lounging clothes I could possibly get for Larry as Christmas gifts.  So very strange to have to buy things relating to his illness and side effects of chemo and such a stark contrast to other holidays.   There was a bamboo tshirt that I purchased last Christmas which was very soft.  Several months later, the hospice nurse and I cut the tshirt down the back so that we could just slip it over his head because it was becoming harder for all parties to roll or lift Larry.  It pains me that we cut the t-shirt. Not only because it was expensive, but it symbolized how transient everything we were purchasing was.  After Larry died, I had to decide if the shirt would become a rag for the house or to throw it away.  It seems like such as small decision but this is where grief trips us all.  Because it was such a loving act on my part, because we dressed him in that t-shirt a lot, throwing it away felt like throwing Larry away and my love for him, keeping it as a rag felt like saying his life wasn't worth much and a constant reminder of his death.  I opted to throw it away.

Before I leave you on this completely bleak note, I have been reaching out for help and lots of people have been spending time with me.