Alone In A Bar

Almost. There is one other customer. He’s at the bar and I’m at a table. I did learn that he is a Travis Tritt fan.

I’ve had an enigmatic week. While overall I’ve felt at peace, I’ve cried nearly every day, off and on during the day. I can’t determine how many of the tears are caused by grief, how many are caused by missing Greg so much, nor how many are caused by loneliness.

Most likely, the awareness of just how alone I am has caught up with me. I’ve never had a lot of friends nor socialized a lot. I’m an only child. None of my relatives live nearby so I’m not close to family members.

Greg was also an only child, but he enjoyed socializing much more than I do. After we were married a few years, we basically stopped socializing. We wrapped ourselves in our love and became Greg and Joyce, united and inseparable.

Perhaps that was an error on my part. If I hadn’t avoided socializing as if it was a contagious disease, maybe I wouldn’t be so alone at this point in my life.

I’ve been thinking this week about how many people are gone from my life, never to return. Of my few friends, some do not live nearby. Others have so much to deal with in their lives on a daily basis that I feel I am disrupting their busy schedules if I call to chat for a few minutes.

So, I sit alone in a bar. I will be alone on my drive home. I will be alone when I arrive home.

Without my Greg. Without my anchor.

Alone in my life.

Grief Strikes Again

Yesterday, while I was waiting to see my opthamologist, I was about to the end of a book that I’d been reading a bit at a time during the week. It’s a fun book, Gators and Garters, with plenty of funny scenes and some serious scenes. When I got to the part about a wedding, grief struck again with the title of a song. 

I don’t remember ever hearing the song before -- “The Dance” by Garth Brooks -- except maybe in bits and pieces if it was playing in a store where I was shopping. I didn’t know the words, but looked them up when I got back to the shop. It is not a song that I would consider playing at a wedding. 

I knew that music would allow grief to overwhelm me at times but I never expected that just seeing the title of a song in print would do the same, especially a song I was not familiar with.

Once again I mourned the loss of Greg. Once again I wondered if the grief will ever ease. Once again I wondered why 2021 has hit me so hard.

Why this year? Is it the way we say it? Twenty twenty-one, the numbers in the correct sequence. This happens only once in a century. Was that the trigger on January 1, 2021, of the many days and nights of unrelenting grief I have had since? Is the calendar letting me know that there is no next step for me?

No tomorrows with Greg. No next weeks. No next months. No next years. 

No more hearing Greg sing. No more seeing his smile. No more of his wonderful hugs.

No more love in my life. No more hope for there ever being love in my life again.

I don’t know what this year will bring into my life. I do know that days like yesterday, that leave me exhausted emotionally and physically, are not days I wish to repeat. 

I am ready for a step away from grief.

Blossoms and Breezes

It’s a nice day today. Sunny, warm, bright with blossoms of Spring. 

Blossoms that remind me of Greg. Oh, he wasn’t a fan of flowers, but there are two he did like – violets and wild strawberries. 

Greg liked the dark purple blooms of the violets. I’m not sure why he liked the yellow blooms of the strawberries, other than the plants do not get very tall. When I would mow areas of the yard that had wild strawberries in bloom, he would ask if the blooms were still there when I finished. The strawberries were usually short enough that the mower left the yellow blossoms to brighten the yard.

Our yard is liberally dotted with violet and wild strawberry blooms today. It appears that the two plants are vying for dominance. In spots the violets are winning, in other spots the strawberries.

A stiff breeze that is more related to March than April jostles the blossoms. A breeze that would have given Greg an earache, and caused him to stay indoors. 

Reminders, more reminders of what I have lost and will never have again. A good man and his love, neither of which can be replaced, no matter what I do.

I am alone with grief.

Rainy Days and Memories

The temperature outdoors is in my comfort zone -- sixty to sixty-five degrees. It’s been raining since this morning so I’ve been outside only to check the mail.

I’ve cried through washing a load of clothes, cooking breakfast, baking brownies, listening to Travis Tritt’s Homegrown album, petting the cats . . . it’s been a rough day. Since the rain hasn’t decided to stop, I’ve been driving most of the afternoon, watching the wipers clear the windshield.

Memories surround me. Some good, some bad, some happy, some sad. I’ve got a tight grip on my emotions so haven’t cried for an hour or so, but feel it would take very little to break that grip. What then? Tears for the rest of the day and night and tomorrow?

A friend said it was from missing Greg, from feeling empty. I know I’m missing Greg -- that is likely a permanent condition. The feeling of emptiness -- I feel past that -- empty would be an improvement.

I feel nonexistent, as though nothing I do will bring me back into existence. Will this feeling pass? Can I defeat it? Right now, I doubt it. Tomorrow? Will there be rain bringing more memories to remind me of what I no longer have? Memories of what I can never have again? Memories . . . memories that reside in my bones.

Another road to follow in the rain. Another hundred miles on the odometer. Another two hours of tears matching the rain. Another day grief has me firmly in its clutches.

Will another million miles in the rain dilute the memories?

Another Round

Grief is relentless. Over the past couple of weeks, I felt as though some of the worst was on its way out. This morning grief told me in no uncertain terms just how wrong I am.

It told me there is no hope, no relief, no way to move forward, no reason – good nor bad – to think anything will ever change, that it is a permanent resident in my life and has no intention of ever moving out.

The pain and tears today lack the intensity of what I’ve endured the past several months. Instead, they contain a bone-deep despondency that I fear will loiter for the rest of my days. How do I cope with this?

A beautiful drive lacked the power to lift grief’s grip on my day. Redbuds spoke of the soft sweetness of Spring. Wild mustard glowed in the gentle sunlight.  Broom sedge held the color of Fall as a reminder of the cycles of life. God’s beauty brought some peace to my heart but grief prodded my memory, bringing to the forefront Greg’s appreciation of God’s handiwork, and that I’ll never again share a beautiful Spring drive with Greg. Forcing me to acknowledge that I know I will never again share any part of my life with Greg.

So, I’ll back off on hope for a bit. Back off on doing things that strongly remind me of Greg, like a drive down scenic roads on a pleasant Spring day. Back off on considering the remote possibility of ever having another relationship. Regroup and start over on a life by myself.

I can survive this. I may not be happy. I may be lonely. I will yearn for all the little things that made up our life together.

In the end, I will survive, for I am strong enough.

Weekend Notes

Thoughts on Hope

Some days, when submerged in the abyss of grief, wanting my past, I wonder if hope exists at a higher depth. Hope for a new tomorrow where I can skim the surface of grief, knowing that it will always be an undercurrent in my life, hoping that I will not encounter a strong undertow that drowns today in relentless sorrow.

If I do encounter hope, what do I hope for? Financial security to enable me to indulge in some nearly-forgotten dreams? Good health and mental acuity for the rest of my life? (That is always hoped for.) A new love?

And that makes me wonder even more about hope. If I hope for a new love, am I truly wanting a new love or a distraction from my grief? If the chance for a new love appears, will I recognize it and move away from the life I shared with Greg?

Questions. Always questions. My life is filled with questions, even if I never disclose them. My expressed questions have caused some people to tell me I have no confidence in myself, in my capabilities, or in the possibilities of my life changing. Maybe I do lack the confidence I need, but even if I had it, I would still question everything.

Today, sitting outside on a glorious Easter Sunday that God has provided, I see no possibility of a new love in my life. The odds are against it, the opportunities too few.

While I am sad today, grief hasn’t overtaken my emotions and wrecked my mood. I can hear turkeys gobbling, birds singing their happy songs, and the buzzing of wood borers. The grass is green, an assortment of flowers and trees are blooming, and a clear sky is a pleasing backdrop for the woodland in front of me.

Even though I am sad, I am at peace.

From Writing to Ashes

A friend has told me several times through the years that if something is bothering me to write about it, then burn what I write. Since grief has had a stranglehold on my emotions since the first of this year, a couple of weeks ago I decided to try her suggestion.

I have written about grief, heartache, frustration, anger, grief, happy times and sad times, beliefs, grief, love, sorrow and how I may feel tomorrow. I have written letters to people to whom I cannot divulge my feelings, and I have written letters to God.

Some of the thoughts were difficult to put down on paper. Some of the thoughts flowed freely, and even though I frequently mangled sentence structure, I did get on paper how I felt about many things that I could never mention to anyone. 

Apparently, this is helping me deal with grief, as after burning the third or fourth set of letters, I arose the next morning feeling lighter in spirit and mood. 

Since starting writing and burning what I have written, there have been a few times I have cried, like Friday, which would have been Greg’s sixty-third birthday. I was singing “We’ve Had It All” and there is so much in that song that relates to the life Greg and I shared, that the tears came unexpectedly. However, songs that a month ago brought me to tears every time I listened to them I can now listen to and sing along, and smile about happy times with Greg.

I will write more letters tonight, and for many nights to come. I need to get past the grief and let a new day dawn in my life.

Saturday Notes

Kentucky bourbon
Aged and bottled
Amber reflection
Of a sunset's glow

Sings to me
Through my ancestors' blood
Moonshiners whose lives
Were shaped by the hills
Mists in the valleys
Warm spring mornings
Moonlight and cedars
And a whippoorwill's call
That mingled with spirits
Distilled in hollers
Clear as spring water
Pure as the dew

These legal libations 
Mock my grief
Promise peace in a bottle
I know is not there
They cannot return
The love of my life
Sheltered by cedars
On our farm's steep hills

Today I am grieving
Love lost to death
Love lost to my heart
Love I cannot know
Life unchangeable
Yet I long for the power
To return to myself
With a semblance of truth

A spring thunderstorm
Mirrors my emotions
As tears and dissonance
Define my life