Day 29

I wandered off a bit, I tried to start another blog that would be more public, shared with friends. With a bit less self reflection. Too much grief seems to freak people out, they start reminding you to look for the bright side, his spirit is with you, little angels dancing around you and bringing you joy. I think the meaning is: I don't know how to make you feel better and so your grief makes me sad too. Don't make me sad, please try to feel happy!

But over here, this feels better to carry on with as the journaling aspect. The occasional vents.

I realize, looking at the last post, that nothing has changed yet. I'm still caught at the bottom of that chasm of grief and I can't imagine that it will get better, at least not yet. Things change, of course, eventually, but it's hard to imagine it.

I have been reading, though. I've reread the Power of Now, which was so important to my husband when he read it. It makes me wonder how he put up with me. What a challenge I must have been to him, to his sense of calm, his no mind moments, his presence. I feel like I must have spent a lot of time dragging him back to unconsciousness, though I think he maintained well. He never gave up on me, he was always sure I'd find my way through the fog. I don't know if I'm ready to be in the present, yet. I recognize thoughts now, maybe that's a first step.

Going through Thich Nhat Hahn's No Death, No Fear, which carries on my quest for learning to be in this moment instead of the past or the future. Up next in the kindle queue is another book about mindful grieving.

Up after that... I can't imagine. I keep looking at old photos and crying more than ever. I find new, cute little things that I want to show him. I still do show him, I talk to him all the time, I say "look!" but it's not the same, it's not the same as hearing his voice, hearing his response, listening to him laugh. I can imagine those things, I can imagine how he'd react, but that's not really enough.

And I still have that profound sense of unreality. That absolute certainty that this is not real, the world around me is not the real world, that I'm somehow caught in a dream state, a hallucination, and if I fight hard enough I will wake up and find him beside me and all will be well. Sometimes it's terrifying how strongly I feel that, and it makes me wonder if I am beginning to lose my mind. I know he is dead, I know his ashes are in that urn that's sitting on the table in the living room. At the same time I know he's not gone, I know he's right here and he's just out of my field of view and I just can't quite figure out how to reach him. I know it to be true just as I know that if I walk into the kitchen I'll see the box of cereal I left out.

I envy those people who say they hear messages, see signs. Even if they are imagining those things, even if it's all self-delusion, it doesn't matter. I would love to have something to cling to.

Day 29. I still can't bear the thought of the world without you.

What Would Jeffrey Do

I've spent a lot of my life being worried, anxious, and afraid of the future. Most of it, really. It comes in part from my mother, I’m sure, she was a chronic worrier, so I grew up always afraid of what could go wrong.

Jeff, on the other hand, was the calmest, least worried person I've ever known. His goal in life was to live each day as if it was the only important moment, just focusing on life in the present. Not long before we met he’d read the book “The Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle and it profoundly impacted the way he would come to view the world, and the philosophy of his life. It is the foundation of his belief that one needs to live in the present moment, that dwelling on things that happened in the past, and worrying over what might happen in the future, served no purpose except to possibly keep you unhappy.

Although everyday anxieties and worry can slip into almost anyone’s thoughts, Jeff really did his best to dismiss them. He worked for a long time to keep that constant mental dialog that many of us have, at bay. He often said his moment of clarity, the moment when he realized he could silence the mind chatter, came when he was on his motorcycle. Being on the bike required him to always be aware of his surroundings, to be completely and totally present in each moment and not allow himself to be distracted by anything. Once he realized it was possible to silence the chatter he began to apply it when he was not on the bike, and gradually he was able to feel the same peace in everyday life.

His advice to me was to not let myself get caught up in my thoughts, to not listen to that negative voice in my head that always told me I couldn't do something, or reminded me of past mistakes, or began constructing endless scenarios about what could go wrong in the future and why I was sure it would be awful. Whenever those thoughts come up, he said, just notice them. Notice the thought, maybe remark to yourself, “That’s very interesting,” and then just let it pass. When I started to dwell on a thought he said imagine that as I hear it over and over in my head that it gradually begins to trail off. The words start to fade out, the volume just reduces to a hum and gradually disappears. I’m still trying to incorporate this into my life, now more than ever. He was always confident I could do that, and I was always confident I couldn't. I would get so frustrated when he’d put these suggestions out there, I’d tell him I could never do it, I can’t be calm, I’ll never be at peace and free of my negative mindset. I’m still skeptical, but I’m going to try again, really try, to understand how he approached this.

For now I’m re-reading The Power of Now, partially because I couldn't quite absorb it when I first tried, several years ago. Over the years Jeff had drifted away from talking about it as much, and he didn't follow Tolle’s further books all that closely, but the basic concept of the Power of Now remained a central part of his life. Perhaps I’m ready to absorb the message now, and even if not I’m finding that as I reread it brings me a  little closer to the way Jeff regarded the universe.

Whenever I would complain that I’d never be able to get rid of my negative mind chatter and find that same calm he would tell me, only half jokingly, to ask myself What Would Jeffrey Do?  He said we’ll write a book about this one day. Maybe I still will, if I can manage to make his calmness a part of my own life.  So what would Jeff do?  I honestly have no idea how he would be reacting if the situation had been reversed, if he were in my place now. But I am going to do my best to follow the example I think he would have set.