Searching for Orion (November 17, 2022)

Image from https://www.britannica.com/topic/Orion-Greek-mythology

So I'd do anything to cry
I'd do anything to cry
Let this pain fall from my eyes
And let time heal my insides

- "Song for the Painter" by Lost in the Trees

It's been six months.

I haven't written in a while because I've been traveling or visiting with family and busy with work and other new projects (more on that in a future post). The first few months passed agonizingly slowly but the last few months have sped up a bit.

For about the first 4 months, there was constant and acute grief. At first it felt like I was starving for air. One time during the summer, I saw a small fish taken out of a lake and watched its sides heave for air and thought in a numb sort of way, "Hey, that's how I feel." Later that feeling subsided and it felt instead like I was in emotional traction and every bone in my body was broken. I had everything in place to support me and get better, but I still needed time to heal and no amount of treatment would let me get up and walk right away.

I learned that the landscape of grief is treacherous. I knew this in advance and tried to manage accordingly, but I still fall down the abyss at unexpected times. I will always be grateful that Scott had time to say his goodbyes and feel the love around him and see what a difference he made in other people's lives. But even with the good moments and the many blessings we had, I will always be traumatized by what happened in the 14 months of his cancer treatment. Sometimes I’ll be going about my business and suddenly have a flashback of when he was suffering, and it shatters my heart every time.

I learned that the month anniversaries are unpredictable. At first I told myself that months are just a human construct loosely based on the lunar cycles, and the month anniversaries were no different from any other day. But my grief did not get that memo.

The first month, I had my family with me and I asked my sister to play a meditation around 11:30pm, which is the time that Scott passed. Despite this, I started weeping as the time approached because I found myself reliving his last moments.

The second month, my dear friend Deanna visited me and then flew home and I did alright the rest of the day. I made donations in Scott's name to the causes he cared about and that made me feel a bit better.

The third month, I tried the tactic of going to bed before 11:30pm and just sleeping through that time. This actually seemed to work, but I don't think it is a viable long-term strategy due to what happened the following month.

The fourth month, I was in Prince Edward Island with my sister and a friend. I thought this anniversary might be easier because I was on vacation with kind people who cared about me. I did fine for most of the day. But as the time approached, I was suddenly struck with overpowering grief and started crying and could not stop, which is unusual for me. Thankfully my sister and our friend took wonderful care of me when it happened. Reflecting on it later, I realized that I had been holding back the grief during the vacation without knowing it. After 4-5 days of doing this coinciding with the month anniversary on the last day of vacation, the grief accumulated and burst out all at once. I don't think it was a bad thing that this happened, but it helps me calibrate expectations for how to manage things going forward. 

For the fifth month, I was busy with work, had dinner with a friend, and was generally OK.

The things that cause grief may be terrible, but grief itself is not a bad thing. It is our way of expressing love for the people we lost; it is not something to be escaped or avoided. While I am a long way from accepting the loss of Scott, I am at peace with the fact that I will always grieve his loss, because I will always love him and wish that he could be here with me.

At the same time, I know that I've made progress in moving forward with my life while keeping Scott close in my heart. I went back to work, spent quality time with family and friends, and started writing about my journey in grief. I've learned that the executive function kicks in naturally when I need to get something done, and I am able to take on more than I could before. Outwardly most people might think that I'm doing alright. I still get hit with waves of grief at unexpected times. I've learned to be OK with crying in any public space (stores, airports, walking in the neighborhood, etc) other than work. I've felt more able to help others in their grief. I was always aware that others around me were dealing with grief, but I wasn't in a place where I could do much about that until now. I don't feel up to it all of the time and there are limits to what I can handle, but I do what I can.

I still feel close to Scott in a way that's hard to describe. It feels stronger when I'm alone and less so when I'm with a group of people or distracted with things that keep me busy. Sometimes I will talk to him, and I feel like he is responding. Sometimes words aren't enough and I just get a feeling of love and support from him. Sometimes when I play the piano, it feels like I am playing for him and my heart is sending him a message that I love him.

When Scott was still alive, my grief counselor recommended that I talk with him on how we might feel connected even after he was gone. When I asked Scott, he thought for a moment and asked me to think of him whenever I saw Orion, which was his favorite constellation, or a running stream, which may have been inspired by his happy memories of building a dam with his brothers and cousins during summers in Arkansas.

I looked for Orion not long after Scott passed away, but it was too early in the year for him to appear. A few weeks ago, I was missing our evening talks so I went outside and found Orion in the night sky. I looked up at the stars and felt closer to Scott, and that brought me some comfort. I went back inside and got ready for the next day.