I read over the post I made yesterday (posted just after midnight today, actually), and I wanted to go a little further into those very dark subjects that I touched upon.
No, I shall not be offing myself anytime soon. I have no such desire. But, reflecting upon things, I realize that the notion of self-destruction and personal annihilation is a theme that winds itself through what I have experienced as the grieving process.
Another off-the-wall reaction to Steve's death, even after a year of trying to process it is "You killed him." It's a Harry Potter approach: I should have been able to whip out my wand, wave it with an incantation and made Steve stay here with me forever. So I'm the one who let him down.
With this mode of thinking, you look for all the moments that you could have stepped in and saved the day. Even with something as uncontrollable as stage 4 cancer, why didn't I have the knowledge, that Heloisesque bit of homespun insight that would have rectified the situation ("Inhaling warm peanut butter will remove even the most stubborn tumors!")?
Turn that delusional thinking on its head and it becomes Steve being the selfish son of a bitch who went and left me alone right when our love and life together was blossoming into what we knew it could be. It's thoughtless, just cold, to turn around and die like that. Just see if I buy him a wedding anniversary present this year!
Waking up wanting to die (or with that thought in my head) is returning to the conscious knowledge, each day, that I am alone and I don't want to be. Some kind of magical thinking (which we all share) convinced me that we would be together forever. It was just that good, that rewarding, to share my life with him. And just when I trusted that he was sharing his back, it up and left him. And if that's not his fault, it must somehow be mine. The Western mindset requires someone to blame.
These modes of magical, nonsensical thinking swim through my head every day. As someone who was trying to convince me to accept Jesus into my heart once told me, "If you believe in flying saucers, why can't you believe in the risen savior?"
OK…Let me mull that one over.
There are lots of extraterrestrial-based shows on cable these days. My favorite is Ancient Aliens, where people postulate the most absurd things. They started with the "Chariots of the Gods" premise and, over the decades, have enlarged and embellished upon the concept.
So, the aliens built the pyramids. The aliens drew the Nazca lines. The aliens parted the Red Sea for Moses after handing him the 10 commandments. The Ark of the Covenant was an alien telecommunications device. Jesus ascended to the Mother Ship. The aliens caused the Renaissance. The aliens built Disneyland.
Aliens also supposedly provided us with the transistor, the integrated circuit, Teflon, Mylar, the internet and self-flushing toilets. Why is it humans can come up with an intriguing concept and then turn it into an elaborate silly and stilted belief system that makes them look crazy? And why do these people not accept that humans were as intelligent, insightful and innovative thousands of years ago as they are now?
Give us the time and the resources and in a decade we can go from unreliable exploding rockets to landing people on the moon. Why couldn't an army of workers build a pyramid in a lifetime? People are incredible at whatever they set out to do. Our compassion is just as expansive as our ability to hate each other. We are wonders; it's our choices that get us into trouble.
And what are my choices right now? I'm not sure. Am I using the grief to block my way, or do I have to surmount it in order to continue on? I'm not sure. Part of going through a life-changing process like this is that you just don't have the answers experience provides. Friends, even parents dying is one kind of grief. Losing your spouse is another thing altogether.
I keep falling back on what so many people have told me: Give yourself room, let things happen in their own time, all will be well in the end. I noted today that, having taken off my wedding ring six weeks ago on the anniversary of Steve's death, I still have a dent where it lived on my finger. And I still catch myself reaching to absentmindedly fiddle with a ring that's no longer there.
These things do take time.
Death was nowhere in my mind as I woke up today. I'm feeling good about life. It's more likely that chronic procrastination is my immediate enemy, not self-loathing or self-destruction. Generating distractions to keep me from moving forward is my greatest obstacle right now.
This puts me in mind of my favorite line from the film "Up":
"SQUIRREL!"
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