One way or another

Yep, this afternoon the grieving response had been strong. What'd I expect going to an event to raise money for cancer research *and* getting a massage?

It turns out the feeling crept back three or four times before we even left the event. Then it was gone for a few hours. As I drove home that evening through Northern Jersey I soon realized I was passing the exit for the Lincoln tunnel into New York City - that's how we would travel to get to the Miracle House apartments. (It seems funny now, all the times earlier in my life when I'd gotten lost driving past NYC. Now all the highway signs just seem to make sense.) In a four month period last Fall I'd made a dozen trips to the city. Not that I was a veteran commuter, but I had learned five or six different routes to get through Northern Jersey and I had developed a sense for where traffic typically backed up, so we could choose routes to avoid it.

I look toward the city and I can see the cluster of buildings where the Miracle House apartment sits. I think about the very first trip into the city. I remember how high we kept our spirits during all those trips. I remember driving back after the first doctor's visit and getting home after 1:00 am.

Then I think about the drive home at the end of November after we met the doctors to review the surgical plan. When I'd sensed something was wrong with the PET scan images, when it felt like the doctors were no longer being specific about the upcoming surgical procedures and I couldn't figure out why they didn't talk to us about the PET results. I'd picked up the habit of speeding on the highway, but on the way home that day I outdid myself. While Robin slept I drive home at about ninety miles an hour, I cut forty minutes off the drive. Obviously some part of my brain knew something was wrong and was working overtime trying to make sense of the days events. I'll never know how I avoided a speeding ticket that day. The very next day the doctors would call to cancel the surgery.

So this is how grieving response starts. It starts with memories which begin to cascade and seem to take on a life of their own. You can sometimes stop it by halting the thought process, but the thoughts don't go away, they are coming back eventually. I think the more you try to hold them back the harder they hit you later.

So after this train of thought the grieving response *really* kicks in - like an overpressure relief valve keeping a cylinder from exploding! Boy it's been a while, but it can ramp right back up to the point where I can feel tears running down my cheeks, down my neck and into my t-shirt.

For the first time I can ever remember, this time I think "please make this stop".

Well, that's not realistic. At least I can hear the thought in my head. If nothing else, today just confirms what I've felt all along. You really don't want to try to stop the feelings from coming up, because they're coming up one way or another.