It’s that time, again. The ten-day period between the anniversary of Rick’s death and his birthday, the day we held his celebration of life. August 13th to August 23rd, 2017: the most painful time of my life.
After seven years, it doesn’t hit as hard. Well, at least that’s what I thought. But I realized that all last week I was strangely “out of it.” No ambition. I didn’t feel much like leaving home. And I didn’t accomplishing anything on my multiple to-do lists while I was here at home.
I tried to figure out what was wrong. I’m not sick. Everything is hunky dory in my life. So why do I feel a bit numb?
Oh, right, this happens every year at this time. It’s like an emotionally caused version of seasonal affective disorder.
Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) – a type of depression that occurs during certain seasons, usually fall or winter. Symptoms include persistent low mood, irritability, feelings of despair, guilt, worthlessness, and low self-esteem. Decreased energy, fatigue, or feeling slowed down.
It’s not fall or winter. It’s a beautiful August in Michigan. It’s not due to lack of sunlight. It’s due to lack of Rick. Its cause is the persistent memory of the grief I felt in that horrible ten-day period seven years ago, and it always affects me this same time every year. There’s not much to do for it except ride it out. Or, in my case, I “write it out.”
I received an email prompt from my writing teacher and it inspired this poem. A few more days and a few more poems and I should be back to my old self.
Prompt: Take a moment that might not normally seem “poetic” and put it into a poem, connecting it to something very different.
HOME IMPROVEMENTS
I tried to lift the microwave
Into the space under the cupboard
It’s needed replacing for awhile
But I guess it’s a “two-man lift”
And I don’t even have one man
Anymore
It happens quite often
In my independent state
While attempting to repair and replace and update
I need the help of
Your exceedingly muscular arms
Your energy, your strength… your love
Seven years ago, I clung desperately to your arm,
Careful to avoid the tubes and bruises
Savoring the warmth of your skin, before it turned cold
And, today, I miss so much more
About those exceedingly muscular arms
Than just the ability to lift this microwave
A “two-man lift” is simply one more reminder
That I don’t even have one man
Anymore
Beautiful writing, my thoughts are with you during this time. It’s two years since my husband passed away unexpectedly. Thank you for sharing such lovely writing.