Sunday Post 87: The Grief Relapse

This weekend marks three years since we learned that Lisa had cancer.  There are really only two dates left that without fail I will feel sadness – the Friday before Labor Day and February 24, the day she died.

I don’t typically burst out in tears anymore.  I have sad moments – watery eyes at times – but not the hard stuff.  But twice this week I had a grief relapse.  

It’s OK.  In a way, the release feels good.

As I approached this weekend, I looked back at my journal to see where my mind was one, two and three years ago.

September 2009

It’s cancer.

Fear, Sadness. What does our future hold?  It’ll be OK

Talked to Brad on the back porch – he said, “It’ll be OK.”

Talked to mom and dad, they said, “It’ll be OK.”

I don’t believe any of them.

September 2010

Not only do I miss Lisa, I miss US…She was my companion, my answer to the children leaving home – my Friday and Saturday nights and New Year’s Eve.

And now, my biggest fear, loneliness, stares me in the face – and for now, my biggest fear is winning.

September 2011

Today I began to see the sun again.  And today, I cranked open the car windows, all four of them, and the sunroof, and turned the volume of my stereo as loud as it would go, and I sang with all my might.  A woman with big hair in the car next to me looked my way – I’m sure she thought, “What’s up with that guy?”

And I thought of Lisa – but they were happy thoughts.  Thoughts of her cracking up when I sang all the words to rap songs on the way to Target.  Thoughts of her singing in the passenger seat not knowing that I was hanging on every word.  And I didn’t cry.  And I could breath again.

My grief counselor lost her husband many years ago.  She told me that there would come a time when I didn’t think of Lisa every day.  She was wrong.  Not one goes by without her face appearing in my mind.  Perhaps I’m reminded by a song or by an expression of hers now being donned by one of the girls.  Often I think of her right before I go to sleep – her side of the bed empty.

It doesn’t bother me to think of her each day.  I actually find it sort of comforting.  So I’ll not fight the memories; most are so very good.  I’ll be thankful for our time and thankful for my growth. 

I think the life I’m building has room for those reflections.

Advertisements
Previous Post
Leave a comment

9 Comments

  1. Francie Reding

     /  September 2, 2012

    Crazy…I thought about her on this Friday night. It’s such a stupid anniversary to remember, but I do. I remember her call: she told me while I stood in the grass watching a high school football game. Kids running around me. The pep band pitifully trying to sound awesome. Everyone near me cheering. And my friend telling me she had cancer like it was a normal, everyday conversation we had. And she said, “It’ll be ok” while I tried to find the right words.

    Reply
  2. Hang in there Danny! We’re all praying for you and some peace. I can’t begin to imagine what you are going through but for your posts. I can’t imagine what it would be like without Eddie in my life everyday! You are a very strong person and Lisa would be very proud of you I’m sure!!
    Rita

    Reply
  3. It’s good to have those memories, and it’s ok to feel the sadness sometimes. Not to mention, your girls are probably three of the best memories you have of Lisa.

    Reply
  4. Aunt Susan

     /  September 3, 2012

    I reads this before I saw you and wanted to talk to you about it, but the time didn’t offer it’s self. Remember grief is very fluid, and we move back and forth in stages and there is no time line. There will be a day when you won’t think of her, but when you do it will be with a smile or a laugh. Your grief counselor was right, it just takes time for all of us.

    Reply
  5. Mom

     /  September 3, 2012

    You know we thought of you today, son. I knew you would be busy. Remember…we love you and are proud of how far you have come. It’s ok to think of her this weekend. We did too. Funny, I’ve run accross several pictures of her this weekend that have struck me as odd because it doesn’t happen on a regular basis. We still love her. We always will.

    Reply
  6. Touches my heart, the words you write in memory of your wife. What a wonderful relationship. You set the bar high for love. It’s good.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s