And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
This morning, I woke up laughing. I was immersed in a dream. Olivia and I were in a restaurant and Michael showed up. He sat down, ordered a meal, and then told us that his whole death had been a mistake. The explanation in the dream, while convoluted, made sense, though I can’t remember the details now. I do remember getting up and being enveloped in his hug while I told him how happy I was to see him. Then I pulled back and said, “But just so you know, there’s no way in hell you’re getting your clothes closet back. I’m using it now.”
Which pretty much sounds like me. In my massive house reorganization, which will continue this weekend, my spring and summer clothes took over Michael’s closet. This means I no longer have to deal with the dreaded twice-a-year switch-out of seasonal clothes, something which always caused Michael to put on his headphones so he couldn’t hear me swearing and moaning away as I worked my way through it.
I smiled over the memory of the dream as I worked my way through morning clients. I think the dream reflected what I’ve been feeling this week, and what I talked about to a couple people. I feel like I’ve turned a corner, in a way. Things have started to feel…normal. Though I hate to use that word. They aren’t normal; Michael isn’t here. And I hate to use the phrase “a new normal”, because new implies something bright and shiny and exciting, and this new chapter of my life has definitely not been that.
But whatever this is, this week, I started moving through my day much as I did before the world blew apart. I went from task to task. I smiled, interacted, laughed, got things done. I was not distracted. My thoughts still drifted to Michael, but I didn’t burst out into tears. There were challenges, and I frowned at them, but faced them, fixed them, and moved on. It was like a fog lifted. A fog, but also a sense of something that had been grabbing and pulling at my feet as I tried to move forward going away, leaving me free to move. I walked easily; I worked easily; I smiled easily.
And as I talked to clients, I glanced up now and then at the photo of Michael I have sitting on my credenza, across the room, and directly in my line of vision. He smiled back at me.
One of the biggest physical effects of grief has been an overwhelming fatigue. I have been craving sleep, sleep, and more sleep. I’m a lifelong insomniac, but since Michael’s accident, and then his death, I have been asleep within a few minutes of going to bed. I’ve found myself typing critiques with my eyes closed because I couldn’t keep them open. I got into the very bad habit of meeting with morning clients, and then crawling back in bed at noon and sleeping for a couple hours, which badly ate into my writing time. By the time I got up, got showered and re-dressed, answered phone calls, had lunch, took the dog out, it was almost time for late afternoon clients to start. The fatigue causing me to return to bed every day essentially took away my number 1 method of battling negative things: writing.
But then there was this week. Fog lifted, feet free, eyes open. I did not return to bed after morning clients. At least…until this morning. I did today.
And then I was gifted with the dream, which caused me to wake up laughing.
My Moment this week is very subtle. There is no one frozen-in-time moment that I am conscious of. There is no solution; Michael did not come back, and he never will. But there is this very mild, very quiet feeling of the path opening up before me again. That feeling of “Life goes on.”
I’ve always hated that phrase too.
But I think I know now, I feel now, that “Life goes on”, doesn’t mean “Life goes on and you totally forget that the one you lost ever existed.” Life goes on does not mean that you skip and twirl. You just move. But you move with purpose, and for me anyway, with a sense that I am doing what I’m supposed to be doing.
And as I said before, with the impact of the video I watched last week, “Life goes on” also does not mean you move on. You move forward. Michael is still very much on my mind and in my heart. But you know, when he was alive, I wasn’t thinking about him constantly. I didn’t stand at the window, watching for him to come home at night. I didn’t wake up with him and watch him go to work, counting the hours until he came back. In fact, I asked him to quit kissing me goodbye in the mornings because he woke me up a couple hours before I had to be awake, and I wanted to be left alone. He and I moved often in different directions, but always knew the other was within reach.
It’s not all that different now, except he’s not within reach the way he used to be.
I had a call from my tax guy a little bit ago, saying my taxes are ready to go. I had to teach myself how to get everything prepared for the tax guy this year – Michael always did that. But I did it, and apparently, successfully.
I had to buy a new laptop last weekend, because my current laptop decided that the left side of the keyboard was no longer going to work. I’ve been working with an external keyboard, which I hate. It’s bulky and it makes travel difficult. But in the past, whenever a new laptop was necessary, it was Michael that put everything from the old one to the new one. I don’t know how to do that. So I found someone who does, and it’s being done for me. I did it.
There are going to continue to be things that I find that Michael used to do, that now I have to learn to do. And…while at first, everything seemed insurmountable, they’re not. I’m doing them. I think of Michael, smile, and then get things done. I think of him, dream of him, and then bring him along with me as I move forward. For this week, anyway, the fog is lifted, my feet are free, my eyes are open.
And no matter what, he’s not getting his clothes closet back.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
