Coping Mechanisms Part One
We are so aware of the “firsts”. First step, first word, first day of school, first kiss, first paycheck. In spite of this, I’m not that obsessed over acknowledging and remembering firsts. In my mind, the firsts aren’t much more important than the seconds, thirds and fourths. After all, routines and relationships and lives are built on a continuum with the repetition just as important as the start, maybe more so, since the “everyday” comprises the majority of our existence. Granted, there is an excitement about the firsts, except the ones that I am experiencing now. There is an extra dose of melancholy about the firsts since Ken died: the first meal, the first night, the first week I spent without him. The new places I’ve experienced for the first time afterward seem to have an emptiness due to his absence, and the first visit to every old place we once shared together finds them filled with ghosts. But even though the everyday firsts far outnumber the special firsts, there is something particularly difficult about holidays. After all, these days are ones that normally turn us inward, when we think about our cultural and personal traditions, and thus those we love. Naturally these occasions are going to be bittersweet, or maybe just bitter, when we are missing our loved ones. Ken passed away late in February so the first holiday without him was Easter. This was as good a one to start with as any, since in our family it is a pretty low key celebration. After planning a menu and grocery shopping, I only needed to get the last of the Christmas decorations put away and scatter some Easter eggs around the house before the the family arrived. And that morning the dress that I wore to Ken’s visitation was close enough to new so I slapped it on for church. Later that week, I was discussing with my therapist how the kids and I handled the first holiday without Ken, and she advised me that I should be looking ahead on the calendar so that there would be time to formulate a plan for the next ones.
The three following Easter are Mother’s Day, Memorial Day and Father’s Day, and I dove into some early planning for all three. I did a brief interweb search of how to deal with holidays in the face of fresh grief and found all sorts of suggestions: stop old traditions, or dial them back. Maintain the normal observances or substitute a few new ones. Leave the country, stay in bed, throw a party: the message I took from these lists was pretty much Do Whatever You Want, or at least don’t feel obligated to do something just because it is what you’ve always done. There are plenty of good reasons to maintain the status quo but switching things up can be a relief if you are just not feeling it. After surviving six months of occasions I agree it is important to think ahead of time about what might feel comfortable and safe to defuse the little time bombs of holidays, or at least control the burn.
Anyway, with plans in place to pretty much Do Whatever I Want, Mother’s Day and Memorial Day pass with some rough moments but smoothly enough that I was feeling steady as Father’s Day approached. In retrospect, the plan for this day was rather intense: my first visit to his childhood home and with his family since the memorial service, plus the first time back to his gravesite to do some clean up and planting with our sons. I anticipate that this is going to be emotionally difficult so I try to give myself some extra kindness as the weekend approaches. I take a yoga class on Thursday to help calm my body and brain. I get my hair done Friday so I know there is an hour when someone else is taking care of me. I stay in the night before and only watch Mary Tyler Moore reruns to keep it light. I pack the car slowly over a few hours Saturday morning: clothes, cooler, a few gardening implements. I feel ready. I get in the car and turn up the volume on a tranquil play list. No need for GPS since the route is burned into my brain from driving it hundreds of times. Five minutes in I realize I did not turn left at the four way stop so I am headed in a completely wrong direction.
Maybe I am not as ready as I thought. I take a deep breath and detour back toward my intended destination. Afterward, I am spent. Just over 24 hours of seeing the people and places that are primarily associated with my husband is draining. Did I overextend myself? Hard to say. It was going to be a difficult day regardless of what I did and I was glad I honored him as best as I could, even if it was tiring. If nothing else, the plan helped me put one foot in front of the other when thoughts of Ken were occupying most of my brain.
July has the 4th and my birthday, so more planning and preparation and execution and learning about what I need afterward to recover too. Thankfully August arrives, a month without any holidays or observances so I get a break from the big firsts. But September has two: Labor Day, which always feels a bit sad to me, with summer and longer days drawing to a close, and then the biggest day in a marriage, our wedding anniversary. Our anniversary was always a big deal for us and this would have been our 35th. We frequently did overnight getaways or more extensive travel and even adventure trips to Europe and South America for our last two milestone celebrations. This year will be difficult, but I have a plan for the day and will report back later this month on how it plays out.
A plan doesn’t mean that the day will be easy, but it helps me feel a little more in control of a life that has been spiraling for some time now. And each time I learn a little more about what works for me so in the future I can cope with the seconds, thirds, fourths and so ons of this strange new life. As far as this holiday, there will be some socializing and some yard work and some quiet time, which seems like the right balance for me. I hope everyone finds some time this Labor Day weekend to Do Whatever You Want.