Tis the season
In a few weeks, it’s the anniversary of Ian’s death. Obviously, I know because in a few weeks the date will be November 12th. Obviously, I know because the memories on Facebook this weekend were of the last little camping trip we took right before he died. Obviously, I know because it’s fall and he died in the fall.
It’s the start of the holiday season, which I would have to argue is the start of breakdown season for grieving parents. My nervous system has started reacting very aggressively. Doing the fall festival thing and it would have been overwhelming for a Buddhist monk. I kept lurching into panic that Ian was lost. My eyes were darting around to find him because I found something cool for him to look at. No matter what I did, I never felt like I got ALL the kids together for a picture. My brain and body were still responding as though he were still alive.
And the holidays always bring out the “regular” grieving process. Cycling through the “12 stages of grief” over and over through every event-my brain is in the acceptance phase, but my nervous system stays in the denial phase. It always feels like I’m not in the “right phase”, because anything that assumes any order and label over your feelings, diminishes them and hinders healing. No pumpkin, no costume. No U8 football. No size 8 for the family Xmas pajamas. I don’t have to add that to my cart for his present. Every holiday season will have a little less twinkle. A little less joy. And a little less spice in the pumpkin pie.
And every year when I feel the change in my body, as the days start to get shorter, I’m going to have to find new ways to calm the fierce vibrations emanating out of my gutted core. I need to regain control over the thoughts I have thinking that I can’t breathe without him.
Maybe it’s the scent a palm tree emits when it gains another ring from summer to fall. When the sun’s reflection picks up a different shade of blue. The unnoticeable sound of squirrels getting acorns. That’s how I know Ian’s season is ending-as all seasons do.