Facing the Rising Sun

January 27,1951 is Roy’s birthday. He had 20 birthday celebrations behind him the year we met. When he died 63 celebrations had passed. My writing between Thanksgiving and New Years was dark; I encountered an opaque glass overpass. “Just get through this!” was my self-talk mantra for two months. I feared public blogging; my broken spirit would send a flood of people my way thinking I was close to suicide. Navigating the “Holidays” required a series of carefully placed steps across a section of bridge constructed of black obsidian glass rock, brittle and sharp. The darkness of the glass created places where the splinters of emotional pain, anticipated; sliced me at unexpected moments. I intuitively knew that living through the Holidays would be part of my solo grief journey.

We were a “Holiday” family. Christmas was a big event. Christmas 2014 was the first Christmas in thirty years that our home, the place where our extended family assembled on Christmas Eve, would cease to be the gathering place. Papa Santa would not stomp down the stairs from the loft bedroom wearing Roy’s hiking boots and shouting out a hardy “Ho Ho Ho.” I struggled with conflicted feelings of forgetting the whole thing, and creating a celebration to honor Roy and initiate new traditions. In the end I settled for a much smaller artificial tree that I could drag up and down the stairs, maintained our tradition of acquiring a yearly keepsake ornament, and having a small dinner with close family members on The Eve. The keepsake ornament was a Santa 2014 tribute to Papa Santa a reminder that his spirit will be with our family forever as we form new ways to celebrate.

My friend David came from California to be with me for the Holidays. A perfect decision; I did not want to spend Christmas Day alone and my children and their families had plans with their other grandparents and friends. Christmas Day was one of the toughest days since Roy died. I had several crying spells; emotional pain was heavy. I felt angry and testy. I could not find joy. Roy and I spent every Christmas Day together since 197I! I could not escape feelings of abandonment. I did not feel like cooking or baking and in the end David scooped me up out of my despair and took me out for a Chinese food dinner. Still, David let me know it was one of his best Christmases. The perfect words to hear and said in a way only a loving best friend can deliver.

Managing grief anxiety is a whole other journey! Losing Roy was traumatic and painful and my mind and body are still searching for homeostasis. While the incidents of waking up in the middle of the night with a racing heart are less frequent, they are irritating and contribute to poor sleep. I am learning to redirect my anxious moments into dark humor. I have given my upsurges of anxiety names:

• The ‘Norman Bates’ Anxiety Attack: I am going to experience a home invasion by a psychopath who mercilessly tortures and kills me while I am sleeping or in the shower.
• The ‘Bernie Madoff’ Anxiety Attack: a trusted individual will con me out of my life savings and 401K.
• The ‘Down and out in Beverly Hills’ Anxiety Attack: through some misstep of my own I will find myself homeless on the street with ragged clothes, disheveled hair, and un-manicured fingernails, pushing a stolen grocery cart.

These irrational thought themes are beginning to make me laugh which help me recapture reality and recognize the origin of the fear. Of course I take measures to be as safe as possible, have always been reasonably responsible with money, and I have instructed my children to notice any signs that I might be struggling by making bad decisions. In reality, all is well; my journey goes on…Thinking of Roy as the anniversary of his birth approaches.