Day 244: Tis the Season

October 30, 2014

Starbucks has their Christmas decorations up already.

I was talking to a friend on the phone today while I was sitting in Starbucks trying to study Korean before class and it went like this:

Friend: What are you doing?

Me: Well...at the moment I'm sitting in Starbucks and I'm kind of bawling my head off.

Friend: Really? What's wrong?

This question still astounds me, by the way. Because...it's kind of the same thing that's been "wrong" for the past 7+ months.

Me: Well, I came here to study Korea and then noticed the Christmas decorations were up. And seeing those- seeing that tree and the ornaments and everything- I just started bawling. I didn't expect that.

Friend: Well...why do you think you're crying?

And if I was astounded before, this question really stumped me.

Me: Seriously? Why? Because holidays are fucking hard.

Friend: What's so hard about it?

Oh, man. I can't tell if I'm going to start sobbing harder or get angry. I do both, actually.

Me: Because I haven't known a Christmas here without Gareth. Because all of the holidays are coming up. Because the thought of them coming makes me want to crawl in a hole. I hate it.

Friend: Well, maybe you need to be using positive language instead.

I think I heard her correctly, but the suggestion is so utterly offensive I have to check again.

Me: What?

Friend: Like instead of saying how hard it is or how awful it's going to be, think of what gifts you have.

And this was the first time I spoke up. 

Me: Ok...people in the place where I am can't hear that. About the gifts. It's hard because it's hard. And no amount of positive language spin makes this easier. I get what you're saying- and before Gareth died, I would have agreed with you 100% and told you about all types of examples where I had done that in my life- shifted to more positive talking and it had a great impact. This is different. This is fucking different.

And now I'm really sobbing. And now I'm feeling like defending myself.  Defending my sadness. It's one thing to feel it. Do I have to defend it, too?

Me: I'm not doing this wrong. I'm not wanting to be in this place. Believe me, if I could not be here, I would. And telling me to change my language makes it sound like I'm doing something wrong- like if I just did it differently, talked about it differently, I'd feel better. It's not like that.

And this is where she heard me. And this is where she showed up. These words are what is needed.

Friend: I know. I'm sorry. It's just...I hate seeing you like this. And I don't know how to help you. I want to help you and I don't know what to do.

And that's what it is, really. People say ridiculous things, hurtful things even, because they don't like seeing me like this. They want to help make it go away. I get that. Completely.

I want it to go away, too.

"What can I do to help you?" is a lot different that "What can I do to make this go away?" I think a lot of times the "What can I do to help you?" is asked when really "How can I make this go away" is what is felt. And the hard part is there is nothing to be done to make it go away. But there are still things I find helpful.

Being able to be in the presence of my grief is helpful. Being able to stay on the phone or remain on a walk with me if I start crying. Bringing me food is still helpful. Who would think that 7 months out making meals is still a difficult task? I'm going to remember this when it's my turn to be there for someone. I never would have thought about it. And perhaps it's just me. But I think not.

Being able to say, "I get how hard this time of year must be. It just sucks" instead of suggesting what I should or shouldn't do is helpful. It's not helpful to be told to "think of the good times" or "think about how Gareth would want me to be happy." It just doesn't help. Telling me to go to an event like a Christmas party because "You will really like it!" doesn't help.

Allowing me to be in this space instead of trying to get me out of it is helpful. There seems to be no rushing this process, and it also looks like it's going to take a lot longer than I imagined it would. Not writing off the intensity of my sadness as being "stuck" or too sensitive is helpful. Getting that this is what it looks like, that this is normal is really, really helpful.

Saying "Your grief is too intense for me right now" or "I have a lot of stuff going on myself and it's hard for me to be around you" is completely ok and helpful. I get that. I appreciate being told that. Doing a sudden disappearing act because you don't know what to say is not helpful.

As it is, I've never navigated through a series of holidays and important dates in deep grief. There is no rulebook and I don't know what to expect. I imagined Christmas Day might be difficult, but I didn't think I'd lose my shit in a Starbucks at the sight of a flimsy tree with red ornaments. I mean I could. not. stop. crying.

I don't know how to get through the next several months leading up to the year anniversary of Gareth's fall. Of his death. I just know that I will. I will stumble and laugh and cry my way through it and I will do it.

UPCOMING HOLIDAYS:

Tomorrow is Halloween.

Here's something else I never anticipated. I can't see people in zombie makeup. I can't see pretend gashes on the head and blood on the face. I don't see a good make-up job. I see Gareth after falling. I see him in the hospital. And I can't stomach the idea of pretending to be a dead person anymore. A walking dead person. Is that crazy? I can't believe this is me. That I'm saying this. But it's true.

November 11th is a somewhat silly but memorable seasonal holiday here in Korea called 빼빼로데이 (Pepero Day), named after stick-shaped pretzels dipped in chocolate. They look like the number one- hence 11/11 as a day to celebrate giving these treats to someone special. It's not too unlike Valentine's Day back home as far as the marketing and ridiculous store displays. Couples everywhere. It makes me feel sick and then I feel ashamed of feeling sick.

November 27th is Thanksgiving.

Last Thanksgiving was a tough day. Gareth was really "off," and I can see it clearly in this photo. I know that look- and it was an off-look. My babe was suffering and there was little to do to calm him. Thanksgiving has tough memories. Good ones from our Thanksgiving in Hadong and difficult ones from the one pictured below. Many friends are going to this same place for Thanksgiving dinner and I haven't decided yet what I'll do. I feel incredibly anxious about walking in there and having Thanksgiving dinner and I feel quite sad and lonely thinking about not being with people on that evening. I'm hoping and am quite sure a solution will present itself. 

Thanksgiving last year at Buy The Book in Daegu with Hadong and Dongguk University friends.

December 9th is my birthday.

This is one day that I have a pretty intense amount of anxiety about arriving. I didn't know that until I was in Korean class a couple of weeks ago and we were being asked to practice a dialogue. "For my birthday, I want..." And I couldn't do it. I felt my throat tighten and I could feel the tears coming and I couldn't do it. I realized then that I didn't want my birthday to come. I don't want it. I want that day to disappear. And this makes me sad. I was a super birthday loving person. I woke up giddy on December 9th! A friend from STL might visit this year- a grief friend who gets this shit more than I ever wish anyone would. So, that might soften the blow a bit.

Sitting across from Gareth at lunch on my birthday last year in Seoul

Then we arrive a Christmas. December 25th.

What can I say. No picking out special things for Gareth. No receiving them. There's the putting on the protective vest but still being hit by each and every little memory associated with the holiday. Today, in that Starbucks, I remembered how Gareth was so impressed by my gift-wrapping skills. I had really gone to town to make his gifts look special. And I was so excited to give them to him. Each Christmas morning here in Korea was Gareth and I in our jammies. Hot tea. Warm hugs. Presents. I can't stomach the idea of waking up this Christmas morning in my apartment without him.

I leave for Bali (on my way to NZ) on Christmas Day. Here's where I'm going to keep my focus and I will try best I can to pretend like this day is just like every other. Nothing special. A travel day to see my friend. An airport day. I want no reminders this year.

Opening presents with Gareth last Christmas morning.

Then New Year's Eve. New Year's Day.

Valentines Day on February 14th.

Sitting across from Gareth on Valentine's Day in Cafe Teo.

Gareth fell from that 4th floor window on February 28th.
He died on March 4th.

Today is day 244.  Please, God, please, Gareth, help me ride the waves until and through day 365.