Hurting to Remember

Last year I found it impossible to visit my husband's grave.  I amused myself that this was because I had moved past the need or the desire.  I pretended that it was quite acceptable for me to not go.  I had any number of specious reasons- gas prices, difficulty, his parents- specifically his father's health, the flooding of the year before.

I hated myself for the coward I was being.  Still do.

I can only visit my husband's grave during the thaw.  The cemetery we chose was perfect for him- a view to the city he loved and close to the city he grew up in.  A place he rode past on his bike every day for the years of his growing up.  The place he said he wanted to be.  A place two hours north of where I live.  The place I will join him when I am not here.

I went back.  I had to.  For the first time since he died I reached out to a dear friend and asked for help.  I needed her to go there- but I didn't know why.

My friend is an ADHDer too.  She actually LIKES to drive.  I can't hardly stand to.  I drove to her house, she drove from there.

She gave me freedom in that time we spent together.  Amazing freedom.  A place to hurt- and let the hurt be part of living.  A place to find joy in things that he and I would have found joy in.  She expanded on the life that he and I shared by going places we always said we would but hadn't had time for.

She forced me be part of living.  Not in any negative way, but in a healing one.  She made me consider life outside of my accepted practice of checking into a hotel room and hiding under the bed.  While I would have been content to order in and hide until I could go back to the cemetery, she suggested a bravery I didn't feel- that we should go out for dinner and enjoy it.

After dinner, she decided we needed to cross the Lift Bridge.  In Duluth, the icon of icons is the Lift Bridge.  Mike and I always said we would explore the other side- but never had.

We found a place to park and explore the Lake Superior beach.  In the freaking cold, we picked up bits and pieces that I will cherish "forever" and pieces I could leave for my Mike.

We went back to the hotel and watched the greatest bad horror movie ever- "The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra"- a b-movie so great- and so bad that other b-movies must cower in shame of it.  You can find it on Netflix.

Having to leave the next morning was painful.  I keep wanting to bring him back with me.  I want him to be safe.  I fight with the reality that he is gone.

My friend helped to bridge the reality with something new and novel- a place I had never heard of, but had great breakfast.

Driving home we sang to Simon and Garfunkel and Crosby, Stills Nash, and Young- the voices of our lives, the music of our generation.  And Josh Garrels- a voice so unique I can't fully define it.  Find him here: http://joshgarrels.com/

Having to leave my husband's grave still leaves a mark.  I have been known to spend hours talking to him.  I'm a rational person and I understand that he is gone.  Doesn't change a thing.

I am grateful to my friend.  She gave me a new way to celebrate the life Mike and I had- and a way to celebrate the life I still have.  Even when I don't want to.