The Fall season is finally here. I feel a transition again. You know how inspirational quotes are sometimes printed on large posters with a beautiful butterfly emerging from its caterpillar cocoon during its transition? Well, this isn't it.
My emotions seem more complex and complicated now. Sometimes even a little delicate... Each 30 days or so, I subliminally add another check mark on the calendar. Time - and time lapse - is merely a human construct, so that we may define and measure our reality in the terms we could understand and relate. "Congratulations! You have successfully negotiated seven months." Seven months is truly phenomenal - if you are pregnant and on your third and final trimester. By then you only have two more months to go and your child will greet you in person. Joy! Not to be overly dramatic - I feel that lately, the more months I get through, the more adjustments await me, the more unfamiliar life gets.
I suppose, when I make it to the first anniversary of Eric's death, everything thereafter will be more familiar. By then I could safely say it has "already" been one year since Eric's death.
Actually, the proper expression ought to be "it's been ONLY one year since Eric's death." ONLY ONE YEAR.
At the beginning, the shock and burden was heavy. I was constantly grieving, and nobody - including myself - expected me to be anything but sad. I could literally be in a daze all day long, if I wanted or needed to. I am well beyond that stage.
But, I feel more "bipolar" than ever. Constant transitions cause my emotions to fluctuate. High one hour, sensitive another. On my tough day, or tough hour, I could sit at the table, or my desk at work, drown myself in music, and let time passes slowly. Then I emerge again. I feel bad for my friends who have to negotiate my "bi-polarity." I also feel bad for the few new friends I meet: death is not exactly an upbeat ice-breaker.
At work, I am frequently balancing and adjusting my somewhat irrational and ultra-sensitivity towards people's passing comments or jokes on the topic of death. I hear everything. Perhaps because I behave "normal," people forget my husband had died really only seven months ago. It's not their responsibility to remember such details.
In the very near future, I will start to organize Eric's belongings. There is never any rush to do anything, but I'm not in a rush. It is time.
In the near future, I will meet new friends who know little or nothing about my life with Eric. It transitions me from the powerhouse couple-team "Eric and Daisy" to just "Daisy." A powerhouse solo-team.
In the near future, I will transition my emotions that Eric is always on my mind, yet he is in my past.
In the near future, I will address my husband and my marriage in the past tense. Words matter. Proper grammar matters. They tell stories.
In the near future, I have to come to terms that I loved my husband more than anything, but I must no longer be in love with him. The thought of this transition brings me to tears.
In the future - at some point - I should find courage and stop calling Eric "my husband." At this very moment, I want absolutely nothing to do with this transition.
Emotions are non-linear. Transitions are complex, intricate, and complicated.
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