When December first rolled around, I was quite surprised at the reaction I had. One of our "rules" we had during the course of our 30+ years together was that no holiday decorations could be put up/out until December 1 at the earliest. It was a rainy day and I had decided not to play pool for a change; I was just sitting around watching college football and basketball when I realized it was December 1st. So I decided to get out a bit of Christmas decorations to try to get into the holiday spirit, which has been lacking ever since Dennis died. As soon as I took the lid off the container in which the decorations were stored, the first thing I saw was the Santa Claus candle that he and I bought our first Christmas together. It immediately reduced me to tears. This was no "sneaking up on me" type of cry; it was immediate and it was all-encompassing—heavy, sobbing tears that remained for quite some time. I continued getting the decorations out of the container, though I was crying the entire time. These crying sessions continued throughout the entire month. Something would happen almost every day—whether it was a good or sad memory—the tears would just start flowing. I had thought I was over this crying stage but apparently I'm not. As I've stated before, grief has its own time frame and it doesn't leave until it's done with you—and apparently it's not done with me yet.
I did the smart thing by getting out of town again during the actual days of Christmas Eve (when he died) and Christmas Day. I went to Palm Springs again, though this time I stayed with my very good friends Donna and Nancy, along with their son Joshua and a couple of other people. We toasted Dennis at 7:45pm Christmas Eve, the exact time he died two years ago. It all still seems so fresh and recent to me; I'm beginning to wonder when that will change. Am I consigned to having these types of days each and every year when the holiday season approaches? I really try to have a good time, but his death has so debilitated me that I just don't seem to be able to get beyond it.
When a relationship that was so filled with love and with each other comes to an end, the person left behind really is like a lost ship at sea, drifting along with the tide and hoping it places you somewhere—anywhere—that will help you mend. While I know the mending is happening, it is taking an inordinate amount of time. All I can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other and continue going through life without him, no matter how difficult that chore may be.
