Triggers

Triggers - a device that releases a spring or a catch and sets a mechanism off, such as the trigger on the gun. In the land of grief you find that there are some triggers you are aware of and others that  catch you off guard. I wandered into a veritable minefield when I chose to make a temporary move back to my home state. I'm playing Russian roulette with my heart, not knowing when I'm going to set off a cascade of tears.

Maybe during that first year the very act of "being" in the home we shared was comfort and made the reality of my loss less "real." I don't know how many times I remarked to one of the girls that I often felt that he was just "out in the yard" doing his chores and would be in the house in a minute. So many times I lay in our bed and looked over at his dresser and envisioned him standing there, just fiddling with his plethora of odds and ends like he did so many times. His presence was so very strong that I believe that part of me felt allowed to believe he was indeed "there."

Now I am 336 miles away and he is not here. Memories of him are, however.  I've been down back roads that he and I drove down 30+ years ago. I've been places that he longed to go - without him. In the midst of doing something truly enjoyable, like hiking the Appalachian Trail, I have felt the icy grip of reality clutch at my heart. I'm no longer in our bed, with his dog beside me, feeling the old indent he made in the mattress. That song comes on the radio and I'm mere miles from where "it all started with a beer."  I'm in the place we found each other, found the Lord, escaped our old lives, built something real.  His absence here is profound. The loss of him is palatable.

It is only now that his death has become painful real; my heart has lost the shroud of pretense. The veil has lifted and my soul cries out, "You're gone! You're gone! Come back..."

Missing my dogs...

When Pat died, Sasha and Charlie were my most stalwart companions. We grieved together. When I cried, they came to comfort me. When they were sad, I hugged and cheered them.  Why did I think that I could move 300 miles away and not miss them with every fiber of my being? Being away from them a week was hard but they survived with the boys to hug on them and love them. Now, so many changes are happening I know that they are on edge. They watched me move things out of my home. Charlie moped and cowered because he knew deep in his heart that something was not right.  Now that it has been 8 days away, instead of being easier, for me it has become harder and harder.  It is grief. I'm experiencing grief - but without the comfort that got me through Pat's death. With that grief, I'm having bad dreams. I'm tense, I'm on edge. I keep thinking about their pain, their anguish. Wondering where I am, why I haven't returned. Their little world turned upside down. I think of Charlie creeping into the boys' bed after they fall asleep (they want him in earlier but pester him too much). Poor Sasha, doesn't want to be in the bed. She lays on the floor.  Her heart was shattered when Pat died. I must be killing her with my absence. Praying that I can have them with me soon. Desperately hoping something will work out so that they can be with me. We belong together.