Countdown

I've been surprised today to recognize a kind of anticipation. Not the anticipation of an upcoming vacation or a reunion with an old friend. It's more like looking forward to the end of an ordeal, for better or worse, as with an election when the ballots have been cast but not counted yet.

Adding three little kittens to our lives  — that was definitely a
happier time. When Nada and Belly have their seventh birthdays
next month, I should be able to rejoice in the memories of
sharing their kittenhood with Sandy.

This morning, I started counting down the hours to the anniversary of the moment of Sandy's death: it's just about 35 hours as I write this. At first, I was disturbed by my apparent excitement. But as I've watched my own reaction through the day, it's started to make more sense to me. Everyone talks about the first year of widowhood as the hardest, and I've heard people say that it was as if a light were turned on when they passed the milestone, after having been in the dark for so long. So I'm curious to see if that's the case for me. I doubt it will be, frankly. But I know that I'm anxious to get back to regular grief, and to remembering the fullness of our time together. Those memories have been overshadowed the past five weeks by my need to relive the last weeks of her life. In a few days, I hope to be freer to remember happier times.

I've had a hard time thinking past July 19, and now I'm beginning to peer into the months ahead. Those months would be better if Sandy were here physically, healthy and strong and ambitious. But even without her return, I think, as she would say, they "won't suck." And I'm hopeful that she will be here with me, however she can be, and that my awareness of her presence will be clearer — since mid-June, it's been clouded by the powerful emotions and experiences of 2011.

I know there will be moments of intense pain and despair in the next 35 hours (I was certainly despondent last night), but I'm excited about reclaiming my brain and my energy again. I want to feel more competent and coherent, less helpless.