Bargaining

The stages of grief have been discredited; it turns out that grievers feel a lot of different things, in no particular order. But I still relate to the names of the stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression. Everything but acceptance; that one I can't wrap my head around.

I think the original concept of bargaining was the idea of bargaining with God or some other greater power. In her book about widowhood, Joyce Carol Oates says she somehow thought that if she just did everything right, if she was good enough, her husband would return. I can relate to that. I've felt that. If I get through the day's to-do list, get the kitchen tidy, pull off the memorial, bike enough miles, whatever — if I'm good, the universe will stop punishing me and give me Sandy back. But I don't go there very often.

Most of the time, I go right to the source. I bargain with Sandy. I know that people don't return from the dead, and yet every religious and cultural tradition seems to have stories of it happening. I believe that Sandy would have returned if she could have, but I also think her desire to return has waned. So, if I want to lure her back, I need to offer her prezzies. Sandy has always loved prezzies.

Last December, we went over to Viv's and Sandy helped introduce
the tradition of making spritz cookies to a new generation.

I talk to her as I go through the day, and I sprinkle little promises in. "I'll get rid of the car, but when you return, we'll buy a Smart car!"

"Let's get you a dog!"

"We'll make spritz cookies if you come back!" (Spritz cookies were Sandy's favorite holiday cookie, and she had many good childhood memories attached to them.)

"If you come back and you're healthy, we can finally remodel the kitchen!"

"You can read as much as you want."

I've promised her travel to Turkey (a long-planned, but never-taken trip); a safari in Africa (we never thought we could afford it); weekends on Whidbey Island and San Juan Island, in Victoria and Vancouver, B.C.; a week in Santa Barbara; an East Coast tour; another trip to Mexico (planned for our 15th anniversary but put off because of chemo last year); a return trip to Venice.

I've coaxed her back with news of the progress we're making on gaining marriage equality in Washington state: "Come back and marry me, woman!"

I've promised her that she never has to work if she doesn't want to; I'll support us both. But if she does want to work, I'll help her find something that makes her happy.

Occasionally, I turn to guilt (the cats need two people, not just one; she wasn't supposed to leave me; I need her), but guilt has never been a good motivator for Sandy. She just adds it to the weapons she uses to beat herself up — or else she gets angry. Positive reinforcement is a much better tool, and I have so many prezzies to offer.

A flat-screen TV. (She wanted one, but felt it irresponsible to buy one while our perfectly good large TV was working fine.)

A stand mixer. (A year ago she was researching to find the perfect one for breadmakers.)

A ceanothus, and any other blue flower her heart desires.

The list grows daily, sometimes hourly, as I think of things I want to do for her, do with her, buy for her, give her, or help her achieve. If she does come back, we may have to take out a new mortgage on the house to pay for everything I've promised her. But that's a small price to pay, indeed.