Every Wednesday

Every Wednesday I will post something about grief. Sometimes it will be a reflection on an aspect of grief’s landscape. Now and then I will share from my own journey of grief, because in the sharing of our stories we find strength and build a community of people that support one another.

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Monday, March 3, 2014

On New Year's Day

Journal entry 29                  

The hush of turning a page. This is what the arrival of the new year sounded like on New Year’s Day. The turning of a page and facing the blank one that appeared. And as easy and quietly as that, everything connected to Evelyn became the past. She rehearsed for a play last year, went to the Arizona desert with Barbara last year, and died last year.

She has not taken a single breath nor opened her eyes to smile at me this year. 

Nine months after her death, I feel ready for the birth of something new. The shock and weeks of turbulent emotions have ended. Even the long period of dead calm has faded away. Everything has been pared back.

I want to smile again. It's been too long.

Enough time has passed that I think I can leave the past behind without feeling guilty and begin my new life. The problem is, I don’t know what I want to do. With Ev’s death, all of our future plans disappeared, and not knowing what direction to head, I have to wait. I feel like I’m living in a cabin in the Sierra Nevada Mountains that is snowed in. I have to wait for grief’s snow and ice to melt off the trail before I can make my way into the high country and over the pass.

As the hours of darkness go on, the roof of my cabin creaks. Night murmurs with the rustling of white pines and owls.

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