Love is forever…One woman’s journey with grief

I woke up Monday morning to the radio announcing a contest, the prize for which was a pair of tickets to Leon Russell, who is going to be playing at the Fox Theatre here in town on October 4^th.  I’d had no idea he was going to be in town prior to that moment, but as I went about my morning routine, I seriously considered going.

Leon wrote “Song for You,” a favorite of mine (although I like Ray Charles’ version), a favorite of A’s.  And I thought it would be nice to go to the concert in memory of A, because he would’ve enjoyed it.  Not only that, but the timing coincided with the general timeframe that he would’ve been here visiting, and we very well might’ve made plans to attend that show as a trip highlight, just like Santana last year.  Truth of it is, though, that while Leon’s quite the songwriter, he ain’t much of a singer.  And were A still alive, and not able to join me for the show, I’m unlikely to have gone to it.  Tickets through Ticketbastard run $25-50, plus a third again in fees, of course, and I’m not THAT enamored of Leon per se.

When I got to work, I had an e-mail from my dear friend J inviting me to dinner the evening of October 4^th.  And I went back and forth for awhile.  Which to do?  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do dinner; I did, but I knew we could adjust the date if I needed to.  But did I really need to?

In a world that more often than not seems chaotic and ambiguous, every once in awhile things line up and present you with a choice that makes it clear to you that you are at a crossroads, where you understand that you are determining a course you could be following for awhile.  And while you often have the opportunity to change your mind, it’s also clear that it would behoove you to make the right decision right now, because you have to start somewhere.  And sometimes those choices show up in disguises that make them seem like no big deal, like a weeknight dinner.  But if we are the sum of our choices, even dinner, if it’s the right dinner, can have major ramifications. 

Here I found myself at a crossroads in grief:  Did I keep looking backwards, going to a show I probably wouldn’t have gone to on my own were he alive, in a well-intended but misguided attempt at a memorial?  Or did I look forward and do something I love to do with a friend I love, who is here, now?  I could choose a bit of healing; I could choose to prove to myself I’m learning some of the lessons of this great loss; I could choose to live this life.  Or not.

I decided dinner with J was way more important.  I decided that choosing to appreciate now instead of servicing the past was the right thing to do.  This signals a change in thinking and feeling for me since mid-July, (and is in line with the decision I made regarding sharing the truth of my situation with his friends), in that I realize that I cannot go back, and I need to make decisions that move me forward, one way or another.  While I can, and will, hold the memories in my heart forever, I cannot keep the past in the present by sheer force of will.  I cannot hold time still, and the more I tighten my grasp, the more star systems will slip through my fingers.  Or rather, the moments that make up a life.  I can’t allow that, for so many reasons, all of them good.  That doesn’t mean that I am “over it,” that I’m fine and will be fine from here out.  It doesn’t mean that I’m not going to make appropriate memorial gestures.  It doesn’t mean that he is being left behind and forgotten.  Not a chance.  It just means that I am consciously choosing to do what I think I need to do to progress, however incrementally.  Making those choices is often difficult, but I realize they’re necessary.  I couldn’t do anything about him dying.  But I have everything to do with whether I bury myself alive.