The group I am attending for the grief therapy/counseling is structured so that each week we have different exercises or assignments to accomplish (they are not set in stone, so it is not a school-like atmosphere at all) to help us get to the places we need to be in order to get through our grief processes in as healthy and sane a way as possible. It sounds a little odd to try to state here, but it really works out to be very practical within the context of the group. We do have an assignment for next week that, however, sent me into something of an emotional downspiral for several days...we are to gather pictures, write something - poems or whatever - , or make up some sort of presentation to memorialize the loved one we lost that brought us to the group. I did not realize quite how fragile I still was about Patty until I thought of gathering pictures and memories to share with the others and found myself not only grieving, but also panicking. (Sorry about the spelling here)
It never occured to me that part of the way I was coping with the loss of my younger sister was by avoiding looking at certain photographs or other momentoes of her life. Fortunately, since the time is fairly short for the assignment, the group leader is letting me bring in the DVD that our youngest sister and several of Patty's friends made for her memorial service. It focuses on Patty and her life, her special qualities, how important being a mom was to her, and how she chose to face her death. I will have to watch it at least one more time before the next meeting to make certain it will run all the way through on my laptop, make sure the proper software is on board, etc., which will be difficult, but probably not as difficult as trying to gather everything from scratch and trying to come up with something new, which I really don't feel I can face right now.
Life goes on, both a blessing and an annoyance depending upon the current state of mind I find myself in, and each day brings with it new joys and humor, new trials and concerns, new pain, new sorrow, new peace.
The cats are a comfort and a constant source of love and amusement, as they have always been, and I am forever grateful for their furry, funny company and purring animal sympathy and affections. There is nothing quite as nice as a pussycat coming up to you when you're upset to see if you're OK. They look inquiringly up at me, rub gently against my ankles and my hands, jump onto my lap or the desk in front of me, and chirrup cheerfully to me through my various heartfelt and/or pettier miseries. It's a privilege to be allowed to bury a tear-stained cheek into the soft and friendly fur on the side or back of a loving and totally accepting feline friend. That the bringing of gifts of dead mice may also be included in the equation does not lessen the joy of their other gifts to me, I just do not dwell on that particular demonstration of their love and affection for me too much.
Ross is a comfort and a source of continual change and challenge for me, as I am sure I am for him since such is the nature of relationships. I really cannot imagine where I would be or what I might possibly be doing without him in my life. He is integral to my being and I want no other man in his place. Growing older together is both the most comforting and the most frightening adventure I can imagine right now, if only due to the retrospective pains from prior losses and tragedies. He is both my greatest good and my greatest vulnerability. I feel so fortunate to have him here with me and I love him more than I can seem to express adequately. Words are both too tame and totally inadequate but to be unable to use them seems grossly unfair to him as well. I guess there will be some more unpublishable poems being written soon; the ones I have promised to burn without letting anyone else read before I die. (We'll see.)
Dad has been battling a virus for the past week and a half or so and, with the car in the garage, I have had little opportunity to spend time with my niece or my friends. I have, however, gotten to get a lot of resting done and since that seemed to be the key to getting rid of all vestiges of the virus I was dealing with for such an interminably long time, it has been, in my opinion, time well spent. It will be nice though to have the car back, as well as some energy fro doing house work and errands and getting a few one-time only chores taken care of before the major holidays arrive.
Last Christmas was really difficult, but we all managed to get through it. This Christmas will be simpler, at least for Ross and me, and I am hoping to get to bake some little cakes to use as gifts for everyone. As I learned after we lost Mom, the approaching holidays will never feel quite the same as they did before, always and forever to feel a little more hollow, a little less joyful and more lonely due to the loss of loved ones. New times and new traditions, new faces and new ways of celebrating each will come about born of necessity both emotional and logistical. It is the way of things that these changes take place; sort of like growing pains but more of a diminishing than a coming of age.
The night is still and velvet, the house silent except for the tapping of my keyboard and the hum of electronics in the background. Ross and the cats are all quiet and, hopefully, asleep, and I am wrapping up the day with my blog not knowing whether these words shall ever reach anyone who may be in need of them or not. I have been tempted to place a counter on my blog but I am too chicken to find out my only visitor is my young niece making sure her auntie is still the only "Izzlebug" on the internet. I can live with a little mystery I guess.
Peace and fair winds. May God speed you to your loved ones and your safe berths where ever you may be in the coming days.
Love, Izzlebug
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