Cracks

Much to the chagrin of my children, I have not sought out grief counseling anytime during the past two years. Right or wrong, I have insisted that there is little value in it for me. My decision is a direct result of negative experiences with professional counselling battling depression and anxiety at various times in my life.

But please do not get the wrong impression. I strongly believe mental health is an integral part of everyone’s overall health. For many, that includes regular sessions with a mental health professional or support groups for a variety of addictions or conditions. I believe they can be and are a very valuable tool to improving an individual’s overall health. In fact, I have many relatives and friends who routinely participate and find great value on their journeys.

I often wonder if I am being too obstinate. It has been more than two years since losing Amy and yet multiple times every day the tears still well up in my eyes as I think of my love for her and the happily ever after ending that we were denied.

My mantra from the beginning of this loss has been to make plans, do something, keep moving forward. On numerous occasions I have not been ready for whatever task or step in my grief journey I was taking, but I moved forward anyway.

For example, just a few months after Amy passed, I decided to replace our aging plastic landscaping borders with a concrete border. An inconsequential decision, but it was still the first significant expenditure I ever made without Amy, especially since she made it clear she was not fond of them. I found it hard to make that decision.

Moving forward with these physical and mental tasks has not always been pleasant, but I believe making them anyway has often dragged me forward. I have forced myself to keep moving forward whether I was ready or not.

Despite my progress, this past New Year’s Eve I had a meltdown. That night, Claire and I went to curl at the Kettle Moraine Curling Club. It was a nice, but very low-key evening. We curled six ends, ate, drank beverages, and even played a card game with our fellow members. Claire peeled off early to join her friends for the remainder of the evening.

As I drove home alone, my emotions burst forth in a very undignified manner. My mood continued after arriving home. A very confused Macc found me inconsolable despite his repeated attempts to soothe me. It was as if my heart had suddenly fractured. In retrospect, I suspect these cracks had been forming for some time.

That night after I calmed myself, I reminisced about our long-distance relationship. Amy and I would often have extended conversations via the telephone. Back in 1988, there was no such thing as unlimited text and talk. We were charged by the minute. Our phone bills were always outrageous.

Whenever either of us had a bad day, we would dial #464 while talking to each other (#HUG) to try and cheer the other up. Until now, I have never revealed the meaning of this number to the kids. It’s a little embarrassing as it is more than a little corny and sappy. We would often send each other pictures holding a sign with the number. The kids have always wondered about it, but neither Amy nor I ever revealed its’ meaning.

That night I continued to contemplate my new life. I must remind myself that Amy has not truly left me. She is ever present in Claire, Morgan, and Carson. I see her every time Claire jumps into situations to provide care for others. I see it in the way Morgan processes and analyzes situations. I see it in Carson in his goofy way of finding humor in just about every situation. I see it in their mannerisms as they laugh and talk. The way they gesture or their looks of surprise or concern. Each is the embodiment of their mother in such different and wonderful ways.

Amy will always be part of me and part of them. I need only hug them to feel her presence and to fill the cracks in my fractured heart. #464