Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Yesterday I went to see a grief counselor. Mostly I went because my dear friend was a little concerned about how I am feeling. To me I feel like since I am getting up and going to work, continuing to exercise, and eat mostly okay (well the sugar thing is really hard) that I am doing fine. I do repeat myself, but the truth is I probably have always done that. I am never sure who I tell what. I have 3 sisters and sometimes I will tell Jen something 3 times and not tell Laura and Aud anything. Then when the time comes to talk about finalizing plans, they are clueless or their feelings are hurt since I did not invite or share with them something important.
The therapist says I need to get mad because that is the process of grief. The problem is it is not my process of grief. I just cannot get mad. Well that is not true I can get mad, but I keep asking who am I suppose to be mad at? God? Well I know that he did not reach his finger down and point to John and command this one will have cancer and not recover. That really isn’t how it works. Should I be mad at Dr. Wolf? No. I know that Dr. Wolf did everything humanly possible and pulled a couple inhuman tricks out of his hat along the way. Perhaps I should be mad at John, after all he is the one who got sick. But I know that John was a victim of his cancer. John is completely blameless in this illness. There is not one thing that John did to deserve or create leukemia. Yes, sure there are times I want to type and entire page of one word, F#$K to express how I am feeling, but really I am not that mad. I feel like getting mad is such a negative feeling and John doesn’t deserve that kind of negativity. Besides it certainly won’t bring John back. Believe me if there were a remote possibility of John being able to come back I would be doing it right now.
In the mean time I am going to give it a try of a few weeks. I figure it cannot hurt, but it is really hard for me to buy that it will help.
I also went to go see Father George today. Now he thinks the therapy will be a good thing. Nice to have his stamp of approval. I went to see him because I still keep thinking of what a test of faith this is. I really want to believe John is well and safe, happy to wait for all of us who love him to join him. Father George said the signs I am getting are not coincidence. He said that God sends stuff all the time. He even told a joke about the people who were waiting out a flood because they had faith that God would save them. First the evacuation workers stop by, next as the water rises a boat comes by, and finally while they are on the roof a helicopter arrives to save them. The people still refuse to give up on their miracle and they drown. When they get to heaven they ask God, “Why didn’t you save us”? And God replies, “I sent people, a boat and a helicopter, what more could I have done?” Father George thinks the flowers and other things I should believe are from John and not me being crazy or making something out of nothing. That these are the signs that John is someplace, just not here in Albany.
Now that it has been 15 weeks (see I am still keeping track) since John’s death the new thing that keeps passing through my mind is not necessarily what really happened the night of his passing, but what I wish had happened. If the end result has to be the same I would like to change the manner in which I behaved and the way John kept bleeding. I still do not understand why John had to die in the manner in which he did. I wish I could change what I said and what I didn’t get around to saying. I really wish I had asked John if he realized that he was leaving us and said at least said good-bye. I don’t think I ever said good-bye. I only uttered what I thought I was supposed to say and the contact word he is suppose to use from the other side.
I had a dream the other night where we were in a motel, John lying on the motel bed with hospice nurses around him. Finally the nurses tell me John is dead. I find myself lying on the grimy motel carpet banging both my feet and fists on the floor wailing that John has died. I was having a complete tantrum. Suddenly John sits up and says he has to go to the bathroom, much like he did when he was alive because of the fluid retention they gave him diuretics. I quickly got up and was helping him up, but apparently I was going too fast. Annoyed John tells me to slow down. I think this dream means if I cry in real life I will have to accept John’s death that he will not get up and ask me for help. Probably why I am so resistant to going to the grief counselor too. She is going to force me to accept and grasp John is dead. Frankly I am not sure I am strong enough to endure that type of reality.
The therapist says I need to get mad because that is the process of grief. The problem is it is not my process of grief. I just cannot get mad. Well that is not true I can get mad, but I keep asking who am I suppose to be mad at? God? Well I know that he did not reach his finger down and point to John and command this one will have cancer and not recover. That really isn’t how it works. Should I be mad at Dr. Wolf? No. I know that Dr. Wolf did everything humanly possible and pulled a couple inhuman tricks out of his hat along the way. Perhaps I should be mad at John, after all he is the one who got sick. But I know that John was a victim of his cancer. John is completely blameless in this illness. There is not one thing that John did to deserve or create leukemia. Yes, sure there are times I want to type and entire page of one word, F#$K to express how I am feeling, but really I am not that mad. I feel like getting mad is such a negative feeling and John doesn’t deserve that kind of negativity. Besides it certainly won’t bring John back. Believe me if there were a remote possibility of John being able to come back I would be doing it right now.
In the mean time I am going to give it a try of a few weeks. I figure it cannot hurt, but it is really hard for me to buy that it will help.
I also went to go see Father George today. Now he thinks the therapy will be a good thing. Nice to have his stamp of approval. I went to see him because I still keep thinking of what a test of faith this is. I really want to believe John is well and safe, happy to wait for all of us who love him to join him. Father George said the signs I am getting are not coincidence. He said that God sends stuff all the time. He even told a joke about the people who were waiting out a flood because they had faith that God would save them. First the evacuation workers stop by, next as the water rises a boat comes by, and finally while they are on the roof a helicopter arrives to save them. The people still refuse to give up on their miracle and they drown. When they get to heaven they ask God, “Why didn’t you save us”? And God replies, “I sent people, a boat and a helicopter, what more could I have done?” Father George thinks the flowers and other things I should believe are from John and not me being crazy or making something out of nothing. That these are the signs that John is someplace, just not here in Albany.
Now that it has been 15 weeks (see I am still keeping track) since John’s death the new thing that keeps passing through my mind is not necessarily what really happened the night of his passing, but what I wish had happened. If the end result has to be the same I would like to change the manner in which I behaved and the way John kept bleeding. I still do not understand why John had to die in the manner in which he did. I wish I could change what I said and what I didn’t get around to saying. I really wish I had asked John if he realized that he was leaving us and said at least said good-bye. I don’t think I ever said good-bye. I only uttered what I thought I was supposed to say and the contact word he is suppose to use from the other side.
I had a dream the other night where we were in a motel, John lying on the motel bed with hospice nurses around him. Finally the nurses tell me John is dead. I find myself lying on the grimy motel carpet banging both my feet and fists on the floor wailing that John has died. I was having a complete tantrum. Suddenly John sits up and says he has to go to the bathroom, much like he did when he was alive because of the fluid retention they gave him diuretics. I quickly got up and was helping him up, but apparently I was going too fast. Annoyed John tells me to slow down. I think this dream means if I cry in real life I will have to accept John’s death that he will not get up and ask me for help. Probably why I am so resistant to going to the grief counselor too. She is going to force me to accept and grasp John is dead. Frankly I am not sure I am strong enough to endure that type of reality.
