Archive for February, 2013


Happy Unbirthday

Happy Unbirthday

Not our picnic, but one nearby.

Last  Saturday, we had a picnic for Greg’s Should Have Been 50th birthday.

In a miracle of the Climate Gods, the weather was perfect even though it had rained solidly for the weeks beforehand and every day since (and up to 150mm / 6 inches last night alone).

I am glad we did it.

I’d forgotten who I’d invited, so as more and more people turned up, I was genuinely surprised and glad to see them.  Old friends and workmates gathered and remembered in just the sort of relaxed chat-fest that was Greg’s style.

I saw some people who came to the funeral and then disappeared so I’m hoping that this has reset their minds so they know they can talk to me. 

The kids had a great time and I enjoyed seeing everyone.
But by the next day I was a wreck….
…and then today I walked downstairs to find my garage and store room sitting in 2 inches of (thankfully clean) water.

and I broke.
I feel like I’m 100 years old, everything is heavy, I am so tired, the kids are moody and I don’t feel like doing anything.
…except I have had to throw away waterlogged things and try to move things out of the water.
 
I want to sleep for a week.
Yep – death week is here 😦
… but I know it will pass and while I don’t expect things to be “good”, I know they will be OK again.

Am I done yet?

Am I done yet?

 

This week, bang in the middle of death-march month, has seen me BEG Greg to come back more than once.
Many times in fact.

Seriously, I have coped with this shizzle for almost 3 years.
I have worked, I have kept the kids on an even keel, I have hit rock bottom on more than one occasion and I have stood up again.
Can I have my medal now?

I am tired of grief.
I am tired of being alone in THIS month …. the month that contains the 20th anniversary of that birthday party where we first met.
That first date.
Valentines Day (and the single time Greg bought me flowers without laughing that you’d swung by the 7-11 on the way home.
His birthday.
….and finally, his death day.

I just want to be done with this and go back to how life was Before.
.
.
.
…..but I can’t go back.

I must go forward, even though I hate every year that passes without Greg in it.
I have to ensure I experience joy each day so that yawning black hole of grief is held at bay.
I will move forward in a ways I have never dreamed of.
Grief will not define me.
I will rise again.