June 20, 2012
It had to come, the endless days after the funeral. In the Jewish tradition, the first 7 days are called "Shiva". This is an official time for friends and family to come and pay respects or pay a "shiva call" to the family of the deceased. There are rules that go with sitting shiva and I was trying to comply as best I could even though Ron wasn't a completely observant Jew. I covered the mirrors and lit the yahrtzeit candle. I stayed home, not driving or going shopping. I mostly just rested and cried. The table in the kitchen had an array of pictures of Ron throughout his life, but mostly our life together. It was my shrine to our oh so short time together. I would walk past the table and caress the photo of his face, and sometimes an overwhelming urge to place my lips to his would come over me. I knew it was only going to be the cold glass kissing me back. I so longed for his warm, sweet kiss. As the day dragged on, occasionally, someone would knock on the door and walk in exploding with tears as they hugged me. I often was able to keep it together until such a visit and then I would break down and cry yet again. Other times, I had been crying so much that I had nothing left and couldn't join in their emotional greeting. When I was shut down like that, it almost made me want to laugh that they were so sad and I felt nothing, numb clear to my soul. This constant swing of emotions was exhausting and sometimes I wanted to go into my room and sleep, but I didn't. I refused to allow myself to completely shut down. I was going to be tough and get through it like I did every other obstacle in my life by taking one step in front of the other.
I found myself moving through daily events like a robot. Obeying the social commands to stand when someone entered or left the room, join in on conversations sometimes about Ron, sometimes not. I was starting to dread the inevitable, the shift to being alone and figuring out my life without him. I was so surprised by my deep deep sadness and how much I missed him. We had been together 12 1/2 years after all and, well to be honest there were things he did that made me a little crazy. It's horrible to say that at times I would think "just go away already!". Oh if I could have only known and not wasted a second on such negativity. I know it happens, my goodness, I realized we had spent nearly every moment together since we made our relationship official. We worked together, played together and lived together every day. Now, the silence was deafening. At night, the horrific ear shattering sounds of his snoring were nothing in comparison to the intensity of this silence. I missed the sound of his feet pounding up the stairs at night, or pounding down the stairs when I walked in the door during the day. I missed his constant phone calls, so often within minutes of us parting ways. I found myself reaching for the phone to text him or call him to share an interesting piece of news or a funny antic I witnessed with our daughter. I wonder when that goes away? When do you stop thinking your loved one is still alive?
Far too soon, the well wishers and friends start to go back to their homes and their lives. We had buried him on a Tuesday and Friday was my first day alone. It wasn't the full 7 days, but everyone else had to get back to their lives. Summer was starting and it was time to celebrate the new season. I was bitter and angry about this. I didn't dare say anything out loud and appear ungrateful for all that had been done for me, but deep inside I really wished someone would have stayed with me a little longer and allowed me a few more days to put reality aside. It wasn't to be, and here I was alone and needing to find something to do with my life. That Friday morning, I cleaned up the house, showered and dressed myself and Alexandra and prepared to enter back into the world, the world of the living. I walked past my shrine of photos with the burning yahrtzeit candle and said an apologetic "see you soon" to my Ron, locked the door behind me and drove off to meet Kerrie and her daughter to see a movie.
What a normal thing to do, go see a movie on a Friday morning, the first Friday of the summer. I agreed to this only because I didn't want to sit alone in the house all day and it was the most reasonable thing to do with a 6 yr old. We went to see Brave and while I tried to keep my eyes open, I just kept falling asleep. Believe me, that is NOT an easy movie to fall asleep in. It is LOUD, violent and annoying when you are not in the mood for a meaningful story line. I kept trying to follow what was happening, but all I could think of was how horrible this movie was! Wow, Disney really missed it on this one. BAD, stupid movie! Finally the torture was over. I was completely exhausted despite sleeping through most of the show and all I wanted was to get in the car, drive away and be in my refuge, my safety zone, my home.
As each day moved into the next, it was apparent I was going to survive and I was going to make it to the other side of my grief and horrible loss. I rarely had a day without tears, but there were more moments I was smiling. I was even laughing on occasion, although the sound of laughter felt like a betrayal of my love for Ron. I had so many people telling me it was OK to live my life and even experience joy on occasion. I was doing my best which was better than anyone had expected.
At the one month anniversary, I posted this on Facebook:
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