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The big question
Nov. 27th, 2004 04:57 pmThis has been quite a week.
This morning we gathered at the cemetery to put Arlina's ashes in her "niche". When I first got there it was raining, but by the time we needed to go outside, the sky had cleared, and it had turned into a beautiful but cold morning. One of my deacon friends handled the words. After, we gathered at my in-laws for a rosary and a lunch.
I came home about three pm. I made a cup of coffee, put on "Mick Martin's Blues Party" on public radio, and finally sat down to read all the sympathy cards I received. There were enough to fill a big silver cookie box.
When i was done, I reflected on the past few months--how busy it has been. Arlina was in the hospital twice since August. First for her hip replacement, and again for a whole month in September-October for pain control. When she wasn't in the hospital, she pretty much required total care, and this took up most of my time. It was an honor to care for her, but it was difficult.
I would sometimes daydream of the things I would do when this was all over. I have done this a little ever since she was diagnosed--trying to see what the future held for me. I planned trips, sold everything and moved to Italy, drove around the country and visited everyone on my friends list. I would read the paper and think about the bands I could go hear, the shows I could see. I rearranged the furniture, painted the house, sold the house. I bought a house on the beach, a cabin in the mountains, a loft in midtown. I bought a Porsche, an SUV, a Harley, a motor home. I drove north, south, east or west, and took pictures of everything I saw.
For a long time I felt guilty about this. I told no one. I wouldn't even write about it in my paper journal. Eventually, thought, I came to understand that it was a defense mechanism--something to help me through this. I shared some of it with one of the social workers, and eventually with Arlina. Arlina was so concerned with my well-being--I think this was the hardest thing for her to let go--she wanted to know that I would be ok.
Ina comment to one of my posts, one of my lj friends noted that all these daydreams would disappear the moment it became reality for me. She was right. I was kind of surprised--I really don't want to do any of it now. Part of it has to do with the reality of Arlina's death. As I thought of all these different things, Arlina was still there. I don't think my mind could grasp the complete and utter finality of her being gone, and how it would change how I think about everything. Most of these things were escapes. There is now nothing to escape from.
The past ten days have been filled. Every night a bunch of people came over to pray for Arlina. It is a filipino thing--say a rosary and then eat. I had plans to make, contracts to sign, vigils to attend, a funeral to plan. It was a lot for a shy introvert, but I did well, and everything went fine.
And so we said the final rosary today and I came home. And here I am. These last months have been filled, and I have been consumed with responsibilities and tasks. But now, for the first time in a long time, I don't have anything to do. There is sadness and loneliness, but it is not overwhelming. It is just there--a part of my life.
All that is left is a question, asked not out of despair, but of simply wanting to know what the next step is.
What do I do now?
This morning we gathered at the cemetery to put Arlina's ashes in her "niche". When I first got there it was raining, but by the time we needed to go outside, the sky had cleared, and it had turned into a beautiful but cold morning. One of my deacon friends handled the words. After, we gathered at my in-laws for a rosary and a lunch.
I came home about three pm. I made a cup of coffee, put on "Mick Martin's Blues Party" on public radio, and finally sat down to read all the sympathy cards I received. There were enough to fill a big silver cookie box.
When i was done, I reflected on the past few months--how busy it has been. Arlina was in the hospital twice since August. First for her hip replacement, and again for a whole month in September-October for pain control. When she wasn't in the hospital, she pretty much required total care, and this took up most of my time. It was an honor to care for her, but it was difficult.
I would sometimes daydream of the things I would do when this was all over. I have done this a little ever since she was diagnosed--trying to see what the future held for me. I planned trips, sold everything and moved to Italy, drove around the country and visited everyone on my friends list. I would read the paper and think about the bands I could go hear, the shows I could see. I rearranged the furniture, painted the house, sold the house. I bought a house on the beach, a cabin in the mountains, a loft in midtown. I bought a Porsche, an SUV, a Harley, a motor home. I drove north, south, east or west, and took pictures of everything I saw.
For a long time I felt guilty about this. I told no one. I wouldn't even write about it in my paper journal. Eventually, thought, I came to understand that it was a defense mechanism--something to help me through this. I shared some of it with one of the social workers, and eventually with Arlina. Arlina was so concerned with my well-being--I think this was the hardest thing for her to let go--she wanted to know that I would be ok.
Ina comment to one of my posts, one of my lj friends noted that all these daydreams would disappear the moment it became reality for me. She was right. I was kind of surprised--I really don't want to do any of it now. Part of it has to do with the reality of Arlina's death. As I thought of all these different things, Arlina was still there. I don't think my mind could grasp the complete and utter finality of her being gone, and how it would change how I think about everything. Most of these things were escapes. There is now nothing to escape from.
The past ten days have been filled. Every night a bunch of people came over to pray for Arlina. It is a filipino thing--say a rosary and then eat. I had plans to make, contracts to sign, vigils to attend, a funeral to plan. It was a lot for a shy introvert, but I did well, and everything went fine.
And so we said the final rosary today and I came home. And here I am. These last months have been filled, and I have been consumed with responsibilities and tasks. But now, for the first time in a long time, I don't have anything to do. There is sadness and loneliness, but it is not overwhelming. It is just there--a part of my life.
All that is left is a question, asked not out of despair, but of simply wanting to know what the next step is.
What do I do now?
