Not “if,” but “when”
As I sat in the dentist’s chair this morning before work, staring out the window at what might’ve been a hummingbird in the far distance while I waited for the hygienist to put my X-rays in the developer, I found myself mildly surprised to find that this chair has remained a grief trigger after 2 years.
The connection was small, and coincidental. I had a cleaning scheduled for the day before I was supposed to visit him at the end of July ‘06, and I’d joked to him that I’d scheduled it just so I could polish up my smile for him. He died two weeks before that trip could happen, so it never did, and I was in no mood to smile anyway. In fact, I had no use for health care of any kind at that point. What did it matter when you could just up and die one day? To say I was bitter and desperate would be one of the great understatements of all time. I cried all the way to the dentist, and all the way to work. I did a lot of crying in the car that summer; it’s really a wonder that I didn’t have a half-dozen accidents.
I didn’t even think about it this year—no dread, no memories haunting me as I drove to the dentist. Mostly, my thoughts were on what I was going to pick up for breakfast when I was done. And that lasted right up until I sat in that chair. And then it all came rushing back. Oh yeah….
I stared out the window as the hygienist worked, as there was not much else to do; we weren’t going to chat. And I got lost in memories of him. I tried to focus on images of him from our moments together, instead of the pictures that flash by on my digital frame. Good memories. I indulged until their poignancy nearly resulted in tears forming behind my eyes. I caught myself before I stepped off the precipice, lest I end up having to explain to the hygienist, or reassure her that I wasn’t crying because of a surfeit of exuberant dental care.
That I will trip over (and into) these emotional bear traps does not surprise me, and has not for a long time; I know they’re out there. I just don’t know where. I’m strong enough now that I can pull the jaws apart and extricate my leg with a minimum of trauma and go about my day; if I’m limping, it’s barely perceptible. But it’s still there.
Yup. I hear you here too (as usually happens). I’ve found that the triggers I *usually* expect these days don’t actually happen and the dreaded thing isn’t really that big of a deal (or else it’s not much different than my usual not-all-crappy-but-not-overly-happy new normal either)…most of the time, at least. But then there are those darn kamikaze ones that I never even thought to expect–like the dentist, a movie, a camping trip–that do it to me.
Gotta love grief, huh? (Snort. Gag. [Insert lots of sarcasm too.])
Thanks for sharing this.