Our Lady of Perpetual Help is my oldest and dearest friend now.
Grief can fucking suck it.
Martina welcomes us all in, and I take my usual seat between Owen and Marcus. Melissa is notably not present for the first time. “Today’s topic of group therapy: Practical Considerations,” says Martina.
I’ve been through this type of session at least twice. After our informal introductions, we go around the group and say something that we’ve been doing that might be seen as impractical, illogical or unhealthy as it relates to our grief—eg: my bags full of Grant’s clothes—and other group members then go around and try to come up with seemingly realistic solutions. Except everyone is in the same boat and have all done the same fucked up things at one point or another.
Everyone who has lost a partner isguaranteedto have done impractical things like keeping an ancient toothbrush, peeling hairs off an old blanket or left sheets unwashed for months at a time because they still smell like your old life, when in reality it’s just your laundry soap.
But sometimes the impractical things are like keeping an old cellphone still in service, or not canceling a magazine subscription or refusing to take a name off a checkbook. As impractical as it is, the little reminders of a person are sometimes what keep you going for so long.
Marcus starts us off. “I’m scared to let Jenny go without water for too long, so I make her take a sip every thirty minutes. I heard that dehydration puts you at risk for a pulmonary embolism, which is what happened to Jessie. I know she’s only three years old, and it’s unlikely to happen to her, but still, I’m so afraid. I’ve been struggling to keep my health anxiety in check.”
We can all sympathize with Marcus. We tell him, “We’re glad you’re here,” “Thank you for telling us,” “Maybe you should talk to your doctor and pediatrician for reassurance.”
Adriana tells us how she can’t play her wife’s favorite CD in the car even though her kids beg her to. She knows it’s just a song, but the memories are too strong, and she can’t handle them yet. But it’s unrealistic to avoid The Beatles forever, especially when her kids love them so much.
“Maybe you should get the kids their own CD player so they can listen on their own, not just in the car with you,” suggests Martina. “Riley, would you like to go next?”
I think carefully about what I want to say. “I met someone.”
A round of hoots and hollers echoes in the church basement.
“I feel so guilty, and I don’t know why or what to do. I know I deserve love again. I know I am ready, but I don’t know how to get past it.”
“Maybe all you need is time to adjust. It might just click for you one day.”
“Have you tried talking to your new person about it? He might understand.”
“Fake it till you make it, Riley.”
“Why do you have to stop loving Grant? You can love both of them,” Martina tells me.
I don’t know what to say.I can love both of them.
“I do love both of them, I think.”
“Then there you go,” says Martina, matter-of-factly. “It is not impractical to devote yourself to someone new, and not to dwell on the past too much.”
Martina looks around at the rest of the group and a bunch of ghostly faces stare back at her. “But at the same time, you are allowed to think back fondly on your memories and reserve some of your current and future self to the past. Both of those loves, Riley, and both of your selves, can coexist.”
“Just don’t let it control you,” adds Marcus.
Both of my loves can coexist.
You move forward, not on.
“Owen?” Martina continues the group, but I am stuck on what she said to me.
Just as my grieving self is still part of me, Grant will still be part of me, and my guilt will be part of me. But I won’t let it control me. I will learn to love again, in time. In fact, I have been loving again. I am confident that the guilt won’t stick with me. I know what I’m doing is right.
I leave the group feeling sure that I can get past this, and with a plan. I will talk to Jae. I will tell him I love him, and I know I have to be okay with it because that’s how I feel, guilty or not.
I am happy, and that’s all that matters.
19
Ileave the church. I’m thrown into the rush of the city, and the more I think about my plan, the more my confidence begins to dwindle. Something about tall buildings makes me feel so small, even though it’s us small beings who built them to be so tall. Is all that matters that I’m happy? What about Jae?
