Going through the motions

Not a day goes by that I don't feel somewhat depressed. A lot of people will think I'm crazy, but I talk to his photo all the time. Of course, he never answers, but it helps me to "see" him when I'm talking. I'll say "see you later" each morning when I leave for work, followed by a heavy sigh and the thought "you won't be here though" when I get back. I leave the house every Monday through Friday with the same thought: another day going through life without him. Nothing is the same any longer. Just this hollowness that doesn't go away. I have plenty of friends and they're all here for me, but it's just not the same. I can't shake this feeling that I'm only going through the motions of living.

Last night (Friday, April 8) represented 15 weeks since he died. In the entire 30 plus years that we were together, the longest stretch of time that we were apart was three weeks, when I went back to Michigan for Dad's funeral and I stayed around with Mom. I can still remember the smile on his face and the strength of his hug when I returned. That's one of the hardest things to contend with—his actual physical presence is no longer here. I still find myself about to say something to him, then realize he's not there. I can't begin to tell you how many times our non-verbal communication was into overdrive. One of us would start to say something, and the other would say, "I was just thinking about that."

For the first time in my life, I feel lonely. I can pick up the phone and call any one of numerous friends, talk about everything and anything, laugh, cry—then feel lonely once the call is over. I don't feel whole any more—a huge piece is missing. The old "me" doesn't exist any longer, and I'm not sure what the new "me" is going to be like. I may look the same when I see myself in the mirror, but I sure don't feel the same.

About six weeks after he died, the hospice called to see how I was doing. Because I'm the survivor of their client, they offered me free grief counseling, both individual and group, if I had any interest—six individual sessions and eight group sessions. I decided to give it a try. I met with one of their grief counselors individually for three sessions, then we decided to take a break, as the next group session was going to start so I wanted to see how that would go before continuing on an individual basis. I've attended two group sessions so far. At the first one, there was supposed to be ten participants, but only six of us showed up—five women and me. When the second session started, I noticed that one of the women from the previous week didn't show, but two new people showed up, including another man, albeit a straight man, but hey, another masculine presence helped. The only thing I can say about it so far is that it's interesting. I've never done anything like this before, so I don't really have any expectations. I personally don't see how sitting around in a room full of strangers is going to help me get through this. Yeah, we're all grieving, but...

I did take a positive step about six weeks ago. On the President's Day holiday, I got up that morning and decided it was time to rearrange the kitchen to fit my needs. I had always considered the kitchen to be Dennis's territory, I just passed through on the way to the living room. We've always kept a step stool in the kitchen, as I'm only 5' 4" and can't reach a lot of the higher shelves in the cupboards. I rarely used it though, as I had my own personal "reacher" in Dennis, who was 6' 3" and never needed a stool to get anything out of the cupboards. I use it all the time now. The kitchen had been the largest selling point when we were searching for a house. Dennis loved the way it was arranged. There's five deep drawers across from the stove, and they were always filled with junk; one deep drawer next to the sink contained all the cooking utensils, but it took forever to find what you were looking for because you'd have to search through the entire drawer just to find a wooden spoon. That all changed that Monday.

My co-workers from our Los Angeles office wanted to do something for me but didn't know what. Renee called me at home, relayed how the people were feeling and wanted to know what they could do for me. After throwing out various possibilities, we came up with a gift card suggestion. I told her that I'd eventually be needing new bedding and linens, as I figured I'd be replacing the bed. They sent me a $100 gift card from Bed, Bath & Beyond. That morning, armed with my gift card, I drove down to the local BB&B and found all kinds of neat items that would come in handy. I purchased all kinds of drawer dividers in various sizes, picked up some hand soap dispensers, a smoky-glass one for the bathroom, a stainless steel one for the kitchen to match all the other stainless steel already there, a large ceramic utensil holder for the counter, and after totaling up my purchases, I realized I still hadn't hit the $100 mark yet, so I kept shopping. My last item was a small ottoman with a removable top that had a storage area. The detachable top opens up to become a laptop table.

Once I got back home from shopping, I went into overdrive. I emptied the drawers of all the accumulated junk, put in the dividers, rearranged and organized. When I was finished, I actually had room left over in some of the drawers. I apologized to Dennis for reorganizing "his kitchen" but also told him that if he were still here, he'd get used to what I did and would eventually even like the changes. I've had people over for dinner and they've mentioned how different the kitchen looks. But, it's my kitchen now and it has to be arranged to accommodate me. Even though I like what I've done, through force of habit I still find myself opening the wrong drawer sometimes when I'm reaching for the parchment paper, saran wrap, etc., but I just laugh when I do it.

I just need to figure out how to "arrange" my life instead of just "going through the motions."