A Year of “Seconds”

When I couldn’t remember what month it was the other morning as I was writing a check, it was a wake-up call. Time to try and pin down this preoccupation perhaps, but no, it’s not that. Lack of attentiveness, maybe, I do not know. I know that I am not alone in this place of fog…disbelief…shock…even those words don’t quite grasp the address I live at right now.

There was a subtle change on Justin’s anniversary, the anniversary of his death that is, a peeling back of another layer of conscious, awareness – that may be it, it is not  fog, disbelief or shock – it is the stark reality of living the rest of our natural, human lives on earth without him, without our Justin.  I don’t know how to do that, none of us knows how to do that, and there is nothing for it, we have to accept that fact.  But I do know that the thought of living with out him causes an unusual adrenaline dump in my system, which in turn causes anxiety and unless you can go outside and chop a tree down, run a mile, or gnaw on the woodwork it pools in your system breeding other lovely by products in its chemical stew. This is new to me, and now recognized, can be dealt with, but truly, the realization that this is our reality fills my every waking moment.  Somehow my mind has to analyze this, and make sense, develop an entire new set of coping skills, for the ones I have do not encompass living without Justin. There is nothing in my tool box that I can reach for, no fall back routine, its all new.  I am beginning to understand why I will never be the same as I once was, I do not believe any of us will be the same. The change is at the very core of my being and it is an exhausting metamorphosis.

The second year is filled with warring between having to chose to live and to not want to die, if not physically…interiorly.  To try and not see everyday as a cruel gift, a day that you have to “get through”, to tick off the hours until you can go to bed and stop thinking. Every morning is a decision to engage in life and to attempt to try out and put new tactics into place, new coping skills, new routines.  A “productive” day is one where my feet hit the floor and the day is met. I do not measure my day by how much I “got” done, but more by…did I do well what I was able, did I have the courage to say “no, I can’t do that right now”?  Did I remember to smile, make eye contact, exchange in pleasantries…that is success, that is choosing life. You may laugh, or snort, or be disbelieving that even  those so small  tasks may be counted as success.  Life is so wearying, all becomes an act of the will.

The key must lie in the now empty tool box…oh sure, some skills, learned behaviors still work…but not much. The entire script must be rewritten, everything is different. My mental picture of my mind is an old wooden tool box and it has been dumped out, the corners dusted out, lining up what was once so easy to lay hands on and discerning what goes back in the box…what is useless and needs to be tossed. What perhaps needs a need a new edge put on it, sharpened and cleaned.  Sometimes it is too much to sort through, that too is a learned skill…when to breathe, when to seek rest and solitude, even from my own thoughts.

I am learning that selecting new tools and learning how to use them takes a lot of energy, a lot of thought, quiet prayer and reading.  Small pieces of reading, just like eating whale.  I love the two Dominican Fathers I am reading  right now, Fr. Gerald Vann and Fr. Vincent McNabb.  Both Englishmen, both gone from this world.  I feel like they wrote slowly and thoughtfully…so it is ok if I read slow, I feel no disappointment in them if I have to reread a simple line over and over again. They both had such kindly countenances, they are like heavenly spiritual directors, gentle and kind souls. And I can not forget my other good friend, Fr. Jean-Pierre De Caussade, S.J, yes a Jesuit, quite the change of pace from my dear Dominicans, but he has been a kind companion also. Fr. De Caussade writes:

“Faith is never unhappy, even when the senses are in a state of desolation. The soul ever maintains a living faith in God and in His action beyond the contrary appearances that darken the perceptions of the senses.

The senses suddenly cry out in terror to the soul: “Unhappy one, now you are lost, you have no resource left!!” and faith with a stronger voice replies at once: “Keep firm, advance and fear nothing.”

I  shall beg the Lord to emblazon those last lines onto my heart.  To keep the senses in their right order and let faith guide and fashion my set of tools, tools forged by God, my rock, my shield, my captain….”Keep firm, advance and fear nothing.”