As Miki began her next big
adventure a year ago and in the days and months that followed, the limbo I felt
and the shock of it all began to crumble, I began my attempt to “move on” as
she and I had discussed a number of times during those conversations that you
never want to have. As time marched on, I
felt as though I was moving forward, or at least doing what I thought was
expected when “moving on.” Getting out
in public, finding some semblance of a routine, putting one foot in front of
the other. But then it happens…you run
into someone you know at the grocery store for the first time and have the
question held up in front of you, “How are you doing?” Or I start the process of removing her name
from utility bills over the phone or tax records at the courthouse. Each step forward thickens the skin a bit and
allowed me to practice keeping the emotions involved at bay, at least until I
made it back to the car or home.
Interestingly enough, the more I lived it, the more okay I became. Talking about Miki with friends and strangers
helped me deal with her absence and made others feel more comfortable in that first
post-Miki conversation that has to happen, sooner or later.
The last big life change I worked
to absorb was retiring. You might think
that not working anymore would be an easy switch to flip and it was to a
certain degree, but some morphing (not morphine) was involved. Not becoming another cushion on the couch or
eating to fill the time in each day was a challenge. Losing Miki had it’s own set of challenges as
well and over the course of this last year I met them one at a time, just as I did
starting down the road of retirement. It sounds almost methodical, but I guarantee
losing Miki and the days that followed were definitely not methodical.
As time continued throughout
this last year, there were dates or landmarks that would come up in
conversation. Our anniversary,
birthdays, dates from her six months of treatment, and of course the day she
set sail. I had these on my radar and
acknowledged them in a way I felt inclined at the time, usually without much
fanfare, which is the way we handled most dates of any significance. We both treated most days equally. Without kids of our own to elevate those
“special” days, most came and went. If
we wanted anything we wouldn’t wait for a birthday or Christmas, we just got
it. Maybe a little lack luster and
unromantic, but it worked for us. Although
I reveled in my birthday and would accept gifts any day of the year for any
reason, Miki chose to not acknowledge her birthday and reveled not being in the
limelight. She would smile when I
whispered Happy Birthday to her, as she closed her eyes at the end of her day.
We knew and celebrated what was important to us in our own way that
evolved over our time together.
Throughout this last year I
slowly acknowledged how much she had rubbed off on me…in my head these rubbings
became known as Miki-things. Everything
from continuing to recycle at home, to appreciating little things each day have
become more a part of me, both of which I haven’t always done. I found myself surprisingly not pissed all
the time, following her passing, but trying to find the positive which she was
all about. And as time drew closer to
her birthday and now the anniversary of her passing, I realized that I was not
getting as emotionally charged as others have anticipated (and me to some
extent) as these and other landmarks make their appearance on the
calendar. Miki celebrated her birthday,
Christmas, and most traditional celebrations the same. Her efforts went toward celebrating them
everyday in her heart. She didn’t need
the fanfare, the gifts, the candles…she tried to live the spirit of that
special day, everyday. And if she got
caught up in the fluff, it was only because of me, or not wanting to dampen the
fire of others excitement…at least that was her intention.
As I approach tomorrow, December
4th, I’m acknowledging my own variation of a Miki-thing. Throughout this last year I didn’t just think
of her on special days. Everyday was
special because she was one more ingredient that added to its
significance. Some were more emotional
than others, but it has made me embrace each day as being special…or at least
attempting to. Some days it takes a
little more effort to see the little things or recognizing that it was a good
day after all. But as I contemplate
(yes, I do that sometimes) what makes every day special, it could be a good belly
laugh or the first sunny day after a string of dreary ones, but she has become
part of what makes each day a good day.
I’m lucky to have known her and she has most likely influenced my life in
ways I may not even know yet, and I will continue to love her for that.
So this week, prior to this
anniversary of her passing tomorrow, I was not dreading its arrival, because
I’ve been living the previous 350+ days as if it were this week. In other words, I’ve lived this year as
though each day was the anniversary and I celebrate her and the time we had
everyday.
