Rule Breaking

We are breaking a lot of rules lately. We are staying up past bedtimes, watching movies on school nights, and having dessert more often. We are skipping chores when it feels like too much. Order is overrated. In the aftermath of Edmond’s death, structure as it used to be does not always serve us. 

Things are not as they were, and we are not the same.

Kids climb in bed with me for the night. Big brothers and sisters come over more often or we go to them because physical closeness is necessary. Video games go on beyond regulated screen time. And, we are together, right next to each other, a lot.

Edmond and I used to hold hands almost all the time when we were together. Especially, when he was driving, he would reach over and hold my hand. My children, all of them, often reach for my hand while we are sitting, driving, or walking together. It is the sweetest gesture, and I am sure they need it too.

We used to be a family of finishers. I mean, if the movie or book is really, really terrible we would still try to push through to the end. There have been a few occasions when we could justify quitting early, but more often than not, we finish it. Then we make fun of the terrible book or movie, lamenting the time wasted or what we could have been doing instead.

I have not been able to return to watching Ted Lasso or any of the series or shows Edmond and I sometimes enjoyed before bed. I have not been able to pick up the book, The Wise Hours by Miriam Darlington, that I started reading a week or so before he died. I am only about twenty pages in, and I cannot bear to open it.

The Sunday night before he died, we had just finished watching Shrinking. It is a series about a therapist who lost his wife suddenly in a car accident. He is hurting and grieving, and has to reconstitute a relationship with his teenage daughter after some reckless behavior. It is a brilliant series, and in his grief-state, he breaks all kinds of rules as a therapist and father. Plus, Harrison Ford is his co-worker/mentor, and well, it’s Harrison Ford. I highly recommend it. I am grateful we finished the season. I doubt I can stomach watching season two when it comes out, even though I will miss out on Harrison Ford. 

When our dog Zeke died, E and I had just started watching a new British television series, Peaky Blinders. We never could return to it. Every time it came up as a suggestion on the television screen, we both felt the pain in our heart and the sick in our stomach reminding us of that night. 

I wonder if I will ever watch a grown-up show or independent film again.

Our ability to focus has been challenged by our pain. I often tell my clients about how grief is physical, emotional, and intellectual. It takes up a lot of space. Walking into a room and wondering why you are there is to be expected. 

I packed my daughter for an overnight trip to Camp Allen with her class, and totally forgot to pack towels and a bathing suit. When we spoke on the phone her first night there, I apologized for the mishap. She was gracious and let me know that all is well. She is eleven and wise, compassionate and flexible. She is currently leaning into her friendships. Two of her classmates are sharing their gear with her. We do not have full capacity or functionality when we are in the throes of grief. I let it my oversight go, too, knowing we are held by our community. Piling on the guilt would be too much, and it is unnecessary. After all, no one is going to die because of missing towels and a bathing suit. 

I remind myself, as I do my clients, that when I get behind the wheel to be more alert and extra attentive on the road. Focus is hard when the heart and mind are buried in sorrow. 

My attention to detail and ability to remember are compromised. So, we let a lot of things go. 

There will not be a spring garden this year. I cannot even comprehend planting anything that will grow and have a life and die by the time the heat of August arrives. I just cannot do it.

The plans Edmond and I were making to continue to improve the land are on pause. Creating without my co-creator is impossible right now. 

Edmond had been weed-eating around the pool and taking care of our property just as spring had begun to show. He loved it, the tasks and the tasks completed. When the buzz of the yard work outside was noticeable inside my studio-office, I joked with a client about this really cute yard boy I just hired. I then disclosed with a smile that it was really my very adorable husband. 

The grass around the pool is nearly a foot tall. I know I need to take care of it, but I just cannot do it yet. Even the grass kept growing after he died. The length of the blades mark the time he hasn’t been here. 

Meditation was a daily practice, even if it was short. I made time to settle into my consciousness, to listen and be. Dreaming was easy, and I could not wait to find sleep each night so I could step into the dreams that always showed up. Over coffee, I would tell E about my dreams. It was part of our morning ritual.

I have only had a few dream sleeps since he died. I meditated for the first time on Sunday night. I did so again on Monday before my first client arrived.

After meditating yesterday, I felt Edmond with me, goosebumps and tingles. Meditation helps me drop in, and I hear and feel more clearly. After seeing clients, I felt steady and open. 

Later, I was unprepared for the panic that came up from my middle through my heart and into my throat in the late afternoon. 

The absolute disconnect from him is a trauma. The triggers are everywhere I used to see him. Trust is a fragile thing, and finally finding your person is a miracle. When he disappeared from this earth in the blink of an eye, my sense of safety and control and knowing was pulled out from under me. Standing on the nothingness brings me to my knees, and, at times, I cannot catch my breath.

When this happens, I reach out from my tangle ball for support or witness. The girl who used to try to do it all by herself does not live here anymore. She has not for some time, and I know it is not the way. Even reporting or confessing the truth of a panic attack in a text to a dear friend helps. I am not alone. 

After I texted my friend to tell her about the panic, I took an Ashwagandha capsule and drank some water with two droppers of theanine. Both are supplements that support the body and help calm the adrenal system. Breath work also helped me find my center. This is the work, and I am not too proud to use every bit of support available.

I will see my friend and energy/body worker on Friday. She will help me let go of another layer. 

Sometimes, we really do need someone to hold our hand so we can do hard things.  

Grief does not exclude me from its powerful symptoms because I do this work with others for a living. Knowing the work is not enough. I still must walk this path, use my skill-set, and ask for support. 

Grief is messy and does not have a regular or predictable time frame. There are no rules for how grief is going to be experienced. Grieving means finding what works, trial and error style. We may need to let go of the ways that used to support us to find what will serve us now. It is an experiment of breaking rules and making up new ones.