September greeted me with the heaviness of grief, loss, emptiness, loneliness and depression. However, two of my dearest friends were getting married and I stared at the invitation on the refrigerator. Of course I RSVP’d months earlier, before my mother died. I had a sitter arranged for her and my daughter and I were planning on attending the wedding. It was going to be a gala event.
I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate anything but as the day drew near, I realized it wasn’t about me, it was about them. And so, on the day, my daughter and I got dressed to the nines, took a limo downtown to the church (I hate driving downtown in Chicago), witnessed them exchange vows and celebrated on a boat that sailed on Lake Michigan. The weather was perfect. The couple was perfect. The food, music, sea air, guests; all were perfect. I tried hard to push away the overpowering shadow of sadness. I took a walk out on the deck. I let the night sea air surround me. I could hear laughter, chattering, music - sounds of happiness that I just could not get into. I eventually went back in and put on my smiley face. Afterall, I couldn’t leave, we were sailing and I had no intention of swimming back to shore. It felt like a forced moment in time. I couldn’t wait to get home.
I tried to get back to some normalcy. I tried to keep busy with my writing. I began looking for a job. I was getting out of the house a bit, joined a gym, met some friends for breakfast and started walking daily. I decided I needed a tune up and found a therapist. It was time to talk about my grief. I was to begin in October.
Looking forward to starting therapy in a few days when I get the news that my music mentor, teacher, and friend had passed away. He was coming to Chicago in a few weeks. We had plans to meet up for dinner. I was devastated. Jerry was gone. It was so hard to process. Of course the first person I wanted to tell was mom, but she was gone too.
There was not going to be a way for me to say goodbye. His body was coming home to Indiana for burial after services in Arizona.
Jerry had a way of making one feel better. He would tell me, “your problem, Miss Joyce, is expecting others to think and act the way you do. If you stop doing that, you’d feel much better and less disappointed.” He was right of course. His hugs were bear hugs; everything will be okay kind of hugs. He enveloped you in his arms. He listened intensely. Never judged. I have a file on my computer filled with his emails called “Jerry’s Joys” because they make me smile, laugh and they came often, especially when I needed them. Our phone conversations ended with him saying, “Bye my sweet Miss Joyce.”
The day he told me he had cancer, he told me not to cry. That he had a good life, enjoyed his life, has wonderful friends, and longtime friends like me and Freddy.
The disease took him fairly quickly. Within 8 months of diagnosis. He was an amazingly kind and gentle man.
I hoped the therapist had a lot of boxes of tissues.
Next week: Finding happiness in the midst of sorrow
Until next time…
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