Spring

I decided that while I was experiencing such anger that it may be a good time to suspend blogging publicly.  I may not have anyone speaking to me or caring if I ever put pen to paper again if I continued when everything set me off.  I feel the anger slipping away.  It truly was a storm that came in and blew everything around, made me fearful and protective.  I went into self-protection mode and in reality, probably the one I needed the protection from most was myself.  I am the first one to say that no one can understand this unless they themselves go through it.  Then why in the world, do I let others’ seemingly insensitive remarks or advice upset me, when it means that I have people in my life who truly care and are only reaching out with the best of their ability to try to be of some help or comfort to me?  And when I don’t know what to say or do to please myself, how in the world would someone else have that magical ability?  Doesn’t make sense, does it?  Well, oftentimes now, neither do I.   

However!  The reality is that I am a happy person by nature.  Buoyant I might even say.   I also like to work smarter, not harder.  (I can be quite lazy if afforded the opportunity!)  It takes a lot of work and a lot of energy to maintain anger.  I found myself in constant chaos, constantly jealous rather than joyous of those I love, and quite frankly, slowly slipping into the role of a victim.  And that realization stopped me dead in my tracks.  I refuse to be victimized by this, by the unfortunate circumstance of losing two people I loved so well, so deeply, so constantly.  What a disservice to them.  Why in the world, when I claim that I want them to be remembered, would I turn this into something about me?  Well, the simple answer is that it just simply is human nature – grief does strange things to people.  But what can people, or more specifically me, do to grief? 

I’m realizing now, that a great deal of my anger is due to the fact that I have to change.  No one wants to change.  I thought a year ago, I would go through a period of mourning, one day it would end and life would go on as I always have known it.  That is perfect evidence of the cloudy thinking that shrouds you when you are grief stricken.  I am no longer a wife; I no longer have a son living in Indianapolis.  Everything changes.  So must I.

I’m sure the spring season helps me want to lighten my mood, and we know I need some new beginnings.  Clichés are easy to go with, so why not use them when they are available?  I have homework from my grief therapist which is much harder than I imagined.  I have to write a five year plan for my life, and then extend it to a ten year plan.  That means I have to try deciding who I want to be when I grow up.  Where, when, how and most importantly I believe, why.  That takes a lot of deep thinking, analysis and soul searching.  If money were not an object, I would secure a place on Lake Maxinkuckee, where my soul has always relaxed and sort it out as I go.  But since that is nowhere close to a possibility, I have to work a little (lot) harder at how I’ll go about finding my joy.

I am encouraged though, for I see myself, breaking ground, arising from the sometimes frozen, sometimes muddy, sometimes rock hard clay here in Indiana, and seeing the tip of something blossoming.  I can’t be sure exactly what will bloom, but I’m looking forward to it.  I’d much rather it be along the lines of a fragrant lilac or a beautiful pink peony, that someone would choose to cut and bring in for pleasure.  I don’t want to be those nasty thistles that overtake your yard making it unpleasant, and painful to touch, or even the dandelion that can be pretty for a moment, but is an undesired weed after all.  It takes a lot of water (tears) and fertilizer (you know what that is) to produce a beautiful blossom and I’d say there have been enough of both in my life of late.  I need to just persist and turn my face to the sun.