Finding Things

On my “ To Do” List I have many things… to do. This month will be busy between closing on the condo, organizing my move out of Florida andcleaning up my messes and various projects I’ve scatter about the country and in my mind. There isn’t a better time to get started than on a cold and blustery day, the third day of January 2008.

This morning, I expected to wrangle up my tax documents and other scraps of paper that say I made this and spent that on things I do for a living – writing and land lording. No consulting in 2007. Except there are a million other projects to distract my short attention even if these tasks are neatly lined up in order of priority on my computer screen.

I cleaned out the filing cabinet looking for gas and postage receipts. It is an art to throw away things once perceived of value or necessity – a flyer from the Adirondack Club, a membership application for the Tampa Sailing Club and several recipes, saved for whatever reason because the world knows I avoid cooking. I’m getting pretty good at tossing, because I have moved several times to less than permanent places in the last four years. Nevertheless, I accumulated my fair share of stuff during my stay in Tarpon Springs and I can ruthlessly discard.

While rooting around the cabinet I came across two things. The first, a photo of Mom and me. It was the last photo of us taken by Dad the morning I left on The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin Book Tour, about a month before she passed away. I have my arm around Mom. We are standing in the living room. I look like crap, she looks pretty good. The photo is not in focused and that makes the picture even more special.

If only I had known it was to be the last time I’d put my arm around my mother. The last time I’d see her standing, smiling, alive for the camera. It’s probably the last photo of Mom. Well, if I’d known, what would I have done? Hugged her again? Asked Dad to take another photo? Combed my hair? Not been so caviler about my departure?

Of course not. If I had known, I never would have left.

With the photo, I had tucked an article written by Larkin Warren. It is titled, “How to Grieve.” It appeared in AARP magazine, July and August 2007, page 55.

I don’t have permission to reprint it. I hope Mr. Warren and AARP don’t get huffy about sharing it. Obviously, it means a lot to me. After all, I ripped it out of the magazine and kept it and now when it's time to weed it out, … it makes the cut and I’m keeping it.

How to Grieve

“After the first death, there is no other,” wrote Dylan Thomas. That doesn’t mean the ones that come after won’t break your heart, but it’s the first that punches your soul’s passport. Welcome, fellow human, to a different country than the one you woke up to this morning. The air’s different here; so is the scenery. Your knees don’t work so well; in fact, you may want to fall to them.

For a precious little while you are allowed to be stunned into silence, or to shriek, or to talk—recounting stories of who he was, what she meant to you, and how it all came to an end. Tell those stories. Some people may try to enforce “The Rules”, to wit: Enough of This Drama Is Enough. Ignore them. Besides, if you treat yourself gently and take the time you need, someday soon you’ll hear the faint but steady voice of your own good sense. Play music you love, sit in the sunshine if you can find some, and if anyone offers you a hand, hold it. Let them feed the cat, too, because they want to be useful. If your good sense does not kick in on its own, help it along; scramble some eggs. It will feel strange at first. But if you pretend that scrambling eggs is normal, eventually it will become normal. Soon you can squeeze some orange juice, too.

For some of us the stay in this new country seems endless. But time passes, seasons change, and, truly, would those we grieve for want us to mope? Come with me, back into the world. We’ll return to this land someday, all too soon, but in the meantime the garden needs weeding, the bills need paying. Your other loved ones need you. And you, my sweet friend, you could use a shampoo.

I've noticed the days are getting longer too.