Two hundred nineteen days ago Roy died. I am sitting in my living room with tears in my eyes. It is the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Normally, we would be planning our holiday; our shopping trip to the market, making sure the turkey was ordered, going over the count, “Is your niece bringing her boyfriend? So and so called and said they cannot make it after all…” Instead I am sitting here all alone, sending recipes to family members, and feeling extremely sad. Is anyone besides me tracking that this is my first Thanksgiving in 43 years without Roy? Trying to find the recipes brought back memories. I had to shuffle through old menus and shopping lists an unplanned trip down memory lane. I did not anticipate the emotional impact of that simple request. I am more and more aware of the role of organizer that I play in both my family of origin and family with Roy. We were both the eldest child out of five, the take charge children in the family, in some ways that defined our partnership, an unspoken expectation of organizer tasked keeper of each of our families without negotiation; no explanation required. I could barely get out of bed today. If I do not plan it, it doesn’t happen, the curse of the oldest child and only girl? No invitations to spend Thanksgiving with anyone. My heart has a hole in it that cannot be filled even with the tears. I was asked by several people what my plans were for the holiday, but how would I know? I want to shout out “Why the fuck are you asking me that?” It is a version of call me and let me know what you need, the most common phrase one hears and after the loss of a loved one, and then the disappearing act. I am guilty of that myself. I now know that my grief makes decision-making very difficult and increases anxiety. I wake up most mornings with free-floating anxiety. My thoughts are not rational, there is an underlying fear that today might be the day that I completely fall apart in public, on the job, make an unpopular decision, let someone down, lose my investments. To ease my Thanksgiving anxiety and those around me, I ended up making reservations at a local restaurant for the first Thanksgiving without Roy, task done…
Life has moved on for most people in Roy’s life, their loss not as profound, for they have not lost their life partner. The cards have stopped, the “thinking of you” text messages grown sparse and sporadic. I feel the loss more now then I did the first few weeks after Roy’s death. I have now taken care of most of the practical matters one has to deal with after a partner dies. Roy’s death ended our earthly marriage, but the legal partnership also had to be dissolved, an estate that was two people has been merged into one. I am now marking off the “firsts” and counting off the days.
On day 204 after Roy’s death, I took my “first vacation” without him, a train trip down to Los Angeles, tucked safely away in a private sleeping car. I intuitively picked a good transition into single vacation travel. The privacy of the sleeping car allowed me to shed many tears as I watch older couples board the train. Roy and I had talked about rail travel after retirement. We had plans to travel the “Silk Road” by train in Asia, the Orient Express, and a trans Canadian train trip from Vancouver to Toronto. I will do those trips without him now. Travelling with older couples made me realize how young Roy was when he died, 63, he did not even reach retirement age. So sad! One of the older travelers that I met in the dining car was a retired engineer in his eighties. He reminded me of Roy as he spun his “logically tales” of how he figured out how many BTU’s are saved by travelling on the train. His wife would roll her eyes at me thinking that I might be exasperated with his tales. I am sure I am guilty of the same gesture when Roy would get going on an esoteric scientific discovery he had read about. What I appreciated most about the couple was that they encouraged me to continue living my life, “You have 1/3 of your life ahead of you, and you are healthy,” they said. “We have lost many friends who were going to do this and that before they died. Do it! “
And so I am…
Day 224 will be my First Thanksgiving.
Deborah, I continue to be humbled by your courage, and your skill, in sharing your journey. Raw, real. Thank you.
Your description of free floating anxiety reminds me of what my 79 years young cousin told me after the loss of her husband of nearly 60 years. With 5 kids, all living near her, she had not received an invite for a major holiday…with 5 days to go. She had always been the organizer/convener.
I know that platitudes are not helpful, so I will simply say that in this moment I am holding you in light and love. Patti
Thank you Patti,
I appreciate your thoughtfulness and support! Love, Deborah