What can one truly know just four months after someone passes? I don’t think I know much at all but here is what I feel at the moment.
Some say grief is like walking through quicksand but so far for me it feels like, on occasion, walking through mud. Not the stickiest of muds but enough to take a moment to look down, shake your head at the mess, then lift your head and keep moving forward. You know what tasks need to get done and even want to get them done and to do them with joy. It is just that those action steps sometimes take longer than they may have in the before time. Before he was gone.
Recently I randomly picked up a book left lying on a table at work, In the Shelter by Padraig O Tuama. A book about finding home in the world. I think it was when the author described traveling with just three books in his bag, one of which was Lord of the Rings, that I was hooked. I’m not rushing through it. I sometimes take it to bed to read and wake in the morning with the book beside me unopened. So then I place it in my backpack to maybe, just maybe, read it at lunch. Nope, that hasn’t happened yet. And then out of the blue, whether work or home, I will pull it out and read just a page or two. Goodness, at this rate it may take me a year to complete. And that is okay. A particular paragraph has held me of late. The author writes:
“To greet sorrow today does not mean that sorrow will be there tomorrow. Happiness comes too, and grief, and tiredness, disappointments, surprise, and energy. Chaos and fulfillment will be named as well as delight and despair. This is the truth of being here, wherever here is today. It may not be permanent but it is here. … To deny here is to harrow the heart.”
I have told people that I worried about the darkness of winter being a trigger for sadness (though I have not been prone to such in the past). And so I was surprised to learn, that so far, it is in the early morning light, when the beauty of the world is revealed, that the tears fall because he is not here to witness that beauty with me. In truth I think in spirit he is. Though I wouldn’t mind the before time when I was laying in bed witnessing the beauty of the morning light and I could hear him the kitchen making me coffee. To be honest, he took that task very seriously over the course of our relationship. I didn’t ask for much but I guess he figured out that I liked my morning coffee. I think what I liked more was the pleasure it brought him to fulfill that task no matter what ache or pain or changes in mobility. Nothing stopped him.
He was notorious for lots of sayings. He was quite erudite. Two that come to mind this morning are, “What’s the objective of the exercise?” And once that was clear, no matter how tired he was, even if he had to sigh deeply first, the next word was often, “Onward.”
As I write I have been listening to composer Max Richter. I have been leaning heavily into sonorous music. Steve taught me that word after he and I had been sharing music early in our relationship. I forget what I shared but afterwards he didn’t say if he liked the music or not. He simply said, “You like sonorities.” Of course I had to look up the word. One dictionary said, “Describing a voice, instrument, or noise that is booming, full, and pleasant to hear (such as a baritone singer, a cello, or a rolling drum).” He also tried to teach me about grace notes in music. Still haven’t managed to get that one.
If and when I cry for just a moment in the mornings I always end up smiling and thinking that I have washed the grit from my eyes so that I can see more clearly this day.
