Vermont seems to be pulling out all the stops this year and giving us the kind of autumn it is known for--bright colors popping out on the trees, cool nights, and brilliant blue sky.
It doesn't seem fair that Mike isn't here to enjoy it...not to mention be here to help me button up the house before winter. Let me tell you, this grieving thing is just plain hard. And it hurts.
I've heard about the Kubler-Ross stages of grieving. I wish there were stages, that this could be a step-by-step process. I wish that I could check off "denial" and "anger"--check, check, check, check--move on to "acceptance" already. It doesn't seem to work like that. It is more like a roiling pot of all those emotions burning in the center of me and I never do know which one is going to bubble to the surface or when.
And then there are times when I feel okay. I am doing my normal things--writing or making cards or sewing, reading or watching something on the television, going out to the store, volunteering at the library, taking a brisk walk--and I feel, for whole bits of time, normal.
The sense of loss comes crashing in again. Mike is gone, my friend, my love, our plans for the future. It feels exactly like apart of me is gone as well.
Still my mother was Ukrainian and I have that fatalistic, Slavic acceptance of death being a part of life as a part of my own genetic make up. So absolutely, while a part of my spirit has gone with Mike, a part of his spirit remains here with me. I do know he believes I am strong and that I am capable of moving forward. I know that I will be okay in a different way than I may have imagined not too long ago. I kind of wish I didn't have to be, but I do.