Sometimes when I think about the unfairness of these last few years, I want to gather every breakable thing in this house and fling it against a brick wall. Not because I think it would be especially helpful, but because the thought of it feels satisfying. I considered it when I was having the kitchen remodeled last year and was getting rid of some old dishes. Maybe, I thought, I should take those plates to the basement and start chucking them against the wall and breaking them into hundreds of pieces. Midwest values, though, won out and smashing things that are still usable felt like it would fall into the sinful category. Instead, I put them in a box to donate and later found out about a business that does the very thing I needed, a place where you spend money to go in a room and smash things. I told my therapist about it and she said I’d be surprised by how often she advises someone to do that very thing.
These dog days of summer coat me in sweaty misery. “My people,” I used to tell Mark, “thrive in overcast, chilly days. Give me one of those, a candle burning, a decent book, and some music playing in the background and I’ll be happy.”
This summer has been hard, way too hard for someone who has been on this ride for nearly four years. I told my therapist about driving somewhere and out of nowhere crying so hard I had to pull over. I told her nothing had happened, the day had been fine, and all of a sudden I’m in my car bawling. “There was no reason for it,” I told her. “Maybe,” she said, “the fact that your husband died will always be reason enough for tears.” That sentence was a gift to me. It let me off the hook, stopped my overanalyzing, and allowed me to let things be what they are whether good, bad, or in between.
I used to work with someone who had a life story that should be made into a movie. When I arrived at the store one day for my shift she told me she was pregnant. It made me teary-eyed and I immediately offered to have a baby shower at my house for her. Two months later I walked into work and learned she had a miscarriage. When I talked to her about it, when I said how sorry I was for her and her husband, she said something I will never forget. “I learned a long time ago,” she said, “that the Universe trusts me with her most precious gifts, but I don’t get to decide for how long.”
Besides getting rid of plates last summer when the kitchen was being remodeled, I went through the ridiculous amount of coffee cups Mark and I had accumulated over the years. I didn’t keep too many of them except for his favorite Periodic Table of Elements cup and my 1969 Chicago Cubs Bullpen one. They have seen better days, are so stained inside that they don’t come clean, and I don’t use either one of them. They sit nestled inside of each other in the cabinet over the coffee maker, and on those summer mornings when the dog days seem like they will never fold over into cooler mornings and changing leaves, I think about hurling them into oblivion out of frustration and grief.
It’s a fleeting thought, though. Both of those coffee mugs are older than my kids and carry the stories of how two people who fell in love on a blind date began their days. One who loved science, the other who loved the Chicago Cubs, and a Universe that entrusted both of them to each other for a very long time.
Dog Days – Sitting in the living room, going through the iPad, I came across your
Writing. As it usually does, a tear comes and I realize that your day of grief
Is only 2 weeks coming. Tom and I talk about Mark quite often once the time comes
Close. We both love you and our memories of Mark and all he was to you and the kids,
Stay in our hearts. I am glad your therapist gives you some comfort when you allow
Her words to help you get through the pain. Once again I came across this at just the right time. Tom and I have “ The Talk “ about what we would when one of us is facing
Your Pain. Just know you are in our hearts and we will always keep Mark in them too.
XO Judy & Tom
Grief bursts are real.
Beautiful and poignant. I’m going to hang on to the line about that trusting Universe. 🙏🏼❤️🌸
I think of you often. Your remembrances are moving and sad and so loving. It is such a vacant spot to lose someone.
Beautifully said – the universe gives us exactly what we need and what we can handle. Sending you love & light.
How can a coworker be so insightful? Loved reading this. Hugs to you, Kathleen.
Sara
❤️🍎
Kath, as I sit before my desktop, I find those tears that say everything filling my eyes and my heart. I wish my fingers could express so easily. We will be thinking of Mark more than usual these next few weeks. As I know you will, find peace with the kids and grandkids when you are in the midst of the anniversary observation, because that is exactly where Mark is.
We took our daughter to college today and my husband remarked that the last time he had an empty nest it didn’t turn out well. The month after their youngest went to college, his first wife was diagnosed with cancer and she died 4 months later. That was 25 years ago and his grief is still raw on days like this. His tears today were not just about leaving our daughter behind.
Kathleen, your posts always bring a tear to my eye. You articulate your feelings so honestly and well. Glad you are keeping those cups. Objects carry great memories. I saved a cheap glass plate that my mother was planning to give to Goodwill. She always used it to serve her angel food cakes, which were honestly the only thing she knew how to make well. Sometimes, she put in maraschino cherries and walnuts, which were my favorites served with vanilla ice cream. I’ve never used that plate but I will keep it forever.
Grief triggers are so real, and they come out of no where. For me its dates like today, so I cry some and try to remember when everything was different.
I am with you on the dog days of summer…. Done. Next week starts the putting out of Autumn decor and the mums will be bought. Maybe if we wish cooler weather it will come.
Hugs to you. ❤️
Your therapist’s statement is a gift to me, too. Thank you so much for sharing. I keep a pdf of quotes from your writing.