Introducing Myself to Myself and the Green K-Car

A young starling, who came out of the forest, during Dominic’s and my early morning walk, landed on my head. I couldn’t get rid of him, so he came home with us. 

He took over Dominic’s chair, landed on my cheese whiz sandwich, tried to steal a little piece of the sandwich from Dominic, bathed, preened, and peeped and squawked when he was watching me through the window.

​Apparently, he had tormented some tourists about a mile away, so they drove the little tweeter to an area near my place. He’s now at my friend’s who likes little whipper snapper birds.

“And can it be that in a world so full and busy, the loss of one weak creature makes a void in any heart, so wide and deep that nothing but the width and depth of eternity can fill it up.”
                                Charles Dickens


The brash little bird, told me to write this section of the blog. Oh, he is such a character, and has almost as much personality as Dominic. 

​He also said to be sure to mention that I wasn’t blaming anyone, but that I was only explaining why I might be this way or that way. Smart bird.

​I took his advice. 

In Belleville Ontario

I’d like to add that I’m very thankful for my family and friends and am appreciative of everyone’s caring attempts to help me through my grieving, and they are still doing it. 

​Anyway, my blog readers might wonder why I write about some of my grief feelings. It’s because I think that many of my experiences are universal. 

Taken From Cheticamp Island

A therapist told me that he sees his patients’ minds as being like a jungle. He attempts to enter their minds’ jungles, then tries to find the best pathway for the clients to take. He must be brave.

My Significant Other

I think the loss of our beloveds, or any major loss or change in our lives, throws us into a mental and emotional jungle. Strange creatures squawk and growl and some of them attack or, at least, show their teeth. Plants curse. Trees weep and grow upside down. Clouds scurry under our feet. Rats gnaw at our pant legs. Unrecognizable shadows stalk us. Fire flies burn black lights and the wind turns colour. Meanwhile, we see people living in a world, that we can’t relate to. It’s all chaotic jungle noises.

The Grief, who in my mind, drives a souped-up green K-car, is the most reliable part of the loss. Believe you me, Grief will stick closer than a brother. If you listen carefully, you can hear its car’s idling engine. Ready to take you for a cruise. For a time, it’s safer to be in the car with Grief, then to be leaving the car and venturing out on your own. And if you jump out of the car and try to find a way through or out of the jungle, why, Claustrophobia will teach you a lesson. Which is, “You’re cornered and their ain’t no place to run to.” 

Face In Cheticamp River

“There is no way out, only a way forward.”
                            Michael Hollings
Grieving is horribly difficult, but it can also be very spiritual. 
    “Grief teaches the steadiest minds to waver.”
                                 Sophocles
​

From Canso Causeway

There’s a reason why people are advised, when they are going through great grief, that they should take one step at a time. Some times one can only take a half step at a time.
 
​I remember a fella saying that every trip begins with the first step outside of your home. That’s how it is with grieving.

​One of my monster fears, when I lost Sue, was that the reality I had lived in with Sue for so long, was going to vanish. So, I tried to hang onto as much of it as I could. 

On Cheticamp Island

I said to a friend, “I’m not the person I used to be. I liked myself.”

​I have tried to be a person who empathizes and is gentle with all those who tried and are trying to understand my grief and be helpful. However, not so much now, but earlier on, anger hunkered under my emotional surface. I’d often get miffed if people gave me un-asked for advice. Anything that disturbed and threatened the stability of what I had been able to salvage, after the grievous storm, could make me angry and argumentative. I felt so vulnerable and I didn’t want to show that part of me.

On Beautiful Acadian Trail

Also, sometimes, I was exhausted. I would have no energy to respond in my normal way. I was soul sick. A timid little deer mouse with sharp teeth. 

​Often, I’d think, “How can they give me advice when they have no idea what it is like. And many people had no idea what it was like. That wasn’t their fault, but the platitudes, Bible verses, what-worked-for-them ideas or attempts at minimizing my circumstances, or exaggerating my situation, would often irritate or confuse me, even when the advice was, in some instances, good advice. Hopefully, I didn’t, too often, show this side of me, but when you’re grieving, you’re pretty well on your own. 

But there was the old souped-up K-car, idling nearby, and there were times, when I was glad to jump in with Grief and be driven back to my wee piece of known turf. At least my grief knew what it was all about and knew where I lived. Often, I’d sense Sue in the car. That would make it an easier ride.

​I still like who I am. It’s just that I have to introduce myself to myself from time to time.

View From Acadian Trail

A woman, who lost her husband, said that one of the things she missed, was having a partner to compare her experiences with. She felt exposed, after visiting with others and then having to return to her empty home. 

​For me, it was mostly visiting couples. Specially in the early times after Sue’s disappearance, when my home felt like an empty mausoleum. After a visit, I knew, or thought I knew, that it was inevitable, that the couples would compare notes. Would discuss me. Topics like how I looked, what I said, new foibles they discovered me exhibiting, weird ideas I expressed, lots of things. And believe you me, I must have, at times, tired them out, with my unscreened choice of words, and them having to listen to my feelings about, well, let’s just say ‘ABOUT’ and leave it at that. These folks know what my conversations were ‘ABOUT’. 

Back at my ranch, there was no Sue to discuss my observations with. So, I felt like a shooting duck or a half person. This feeling revved up my anxiety, crossness and defensiveness. Maybe, there was also some paranoia, but that’s what happens when you live in an unfamiliar jungle. You have to be ready. You have to keep your emotional back to the wall, because you don’t know what will come at you and where it will come from.

And, some of the people I visited, were also grieving the loss of Sue. Some of them had had a much longer relationship with Sue than I’d had. These folks would be trying to understand me, while grieving for Sue, who wasn’t in their lives either. And there was me, now single, a wee floating planet, spinning around in a different orbit. A stranger, in a way. Who is this person who doesn’t have Sue in his life anymore? 
​

She wanted to Hike With Dominic and Me

So, if I visit you, or you visit me, and I get lost in my grieving jungle and get too intense or confusing, give me a thought when you are discussing my behaviour with your significant other. My significant other, will wag his tail and try his best to understand, but Sue was a way better at understanding my thoughts and concerns. This is not diminishing Dominic’s role in my life. He’s one bright little cookie and really cute.

Good news is that I don’t hear the souped up green K-car’s engine as often as I used to. That’s good, but I never really want Grief to totally go away. 

​And you know, now there are times when the jungle has opened up, even feels friendly, so I’m getting braver and don’t always need to hitch a ride.

Yes sir, grieving can be, at times, almost impossible to bear, but it is spiritual. The emotions it brings, are valuable, and will, hopefully, lead one to a little better understanding of just how this universe is put together.

​This blog has been approved by Sir Dominic and Mr. Starling.