Since my wife died in February, I’ve transformed into an obsessive recluse. I’ve always been a weirdo but now I’m a grieving weirdo. It takes eccentricity to a whole other level. Before, my obsessions were psychology and home improvement projects. Now, work is impossible and I break down trying to choose flowers at the local Home Depot. Removing every last dandelion from the yard is my glorious new passion.
Since I trust you, I’m going to tell you about some of the other strange occupiers of my mind. Like squatters, these topics have moved into my brain to fill up the unused rooms. I vacillate between kicking them out and kinda liking the company. Until new obsessions come along, I’ll play reluctant host to this ragtag collection of ideas.
1. Life After Life
It’s natural to wonder what happens to someone after they die. I’ve been doing some light reading (usually at around 3AM) on what psychic mediums think on the subject. Apparently, we continue life on the other side, often recreating the likeness of our earthly homes and possessions out of familiarity. In my wife’s afterlife, I hope she made some improvements. She’s likely finally found the perfect couch (comfy yet stylish!) and is no longer taunted by the daily dog hair tumbleweeds.
Dolores O’Riordan of the The Cranberries
I have a few questions. Does my wife get to meet celebrities? She’d be totally psyched to meet Dolores O’Riordan, the lead singer of The Cranberries, who died in January of 2018. Did she get to watch the last season of Homeland that aired after she died? Can she still water a lawn in contemplative meditation? Most likely, she’s cavorting with her first girlfriend, Suzy. I’m told Suzy was a little crazy in her earth life so I hope she’s not a bad influence.
If I end up living a few more decades, I’ll probably grow and change substantially. Will Patty recognize me when I finally make the trip? Will she and I still be soulmates or will I have to share her? Like, did Suzy claim my wife as her soulmate? I don’t wish anyone loneliness in the after life but dang, I’ve got dibs.
2. Cookie Butter Therapy
If you’ve read my self care tips, you know I’ve found cookie butter solace. Listening to my body’s unique nutrient requirements, I heed the call for that smooth comfort. As a psychologist, it used to bug me when I’d see memes like, “I don’t need therapy, I’ve got wine!” Occasionally speaking aloud, I’d reply, “Hello future client!”
Now, I’m not so sure that retail, alcohol or food therapy is all that bad. I mean, it IS bad in that it doesn’t solve the problem and could turn into something worse. But if keeping your head above water saves your life, perhaps I should reconsider these stopgap measures. Personally, I’m planning a future half marathon to combat the future cookie butter problem. And by planning, I mean it’s on my list to look up neighborhood jogging routes.
3. Signs from Beyond the Veil
After my Dad died in 2002, I looked for evidence that his energy was still around. Losing a spouse takes it to a completely new desperation. Again, according to psychic mediums, we can ask our departed loved ones for specific signs and they will try to send them to us. Oh the pressure! Being an overachiever, of course I wanted to come up with the perfect sign to request from my wife. One that hits just the right balance of inside joke and everlasting love.
To get the ball rolling, I picked the first thing that came to mind. I asked my wife to send me a maroon Nissan Rogue SUV. Weird, I know - but also the perfect symbol of our family. I’m not that great at these requests just yet so I hope she knows I’m asking to see one, not get one as a gift. Years ago, she borrowed my maroon Nissan for a road trip with two little boys who would become my step kids. Having not yet met, questions about the car’s owner became a convenient way to talk about Mama’s new sweetheart.
I started seeing this car EVERYWHERE. There’s this one little problem, though. Have you ever heard of confirmation bias? Psychology Today says, “Confirmation bias occurs from the direct influence of desire on beliefs. “ Basically, I started seeing the car because I wanted the sign from her. The overly enthusiastic part of my brain said, “Yeah, but wouldn’t she also FLOOD the world with whatever sign you requested????” Next time, I’ll ask for money.
4. Meditation
After all the grief festivities were done (i.e. initial horror and subsequent wake and funeral), one of my besties recommended the book, Proof of Heaven by Dr. Eben Alexander. The author is a smarty-pants neurosurgeon who had a near death experience. He woke up out of a coma, wrote everything down, and set about trying to disprove the platitudes he once touted to patients. Anyway, a fascinating book and GREAT for the active griever in your life.
Veering from his conventional colleagues, Dr. Alexander’s career diverged towards the path less taken. He’s now involved in projects with the founders of Sacred Acoustics, a brainwave entrainment audio recordings company. That’s a fancy way of saying guided meditations with binaural beats that create experiences. There’s one that facilitates “communication with spirits across the veil.” Since I’m obsessed with getting back with my wife without leaving my kids and dogs, I became a convert.
Before Patty died (AKA BPD), I was known to dabble in mindfulness and may have claimed I meditated for longer and more often than I actually remembered to do. Don’t judge me, I was a busy mom! With a renewed desperation and time on my hands, I gave these wacky meditations a go. OMG, y’all they are amazing. I dare say I’ve done a little cavorting with my wife (at least in my mind). Seriously, between ADHD and grief brain, I can still knock out a 38 minute ‘Love Body’ meditation, no sweat. In the least, it’s a crutch over the rough spots.
Oliver the boxer with rainbow messages from his Mama.
5. Crafty Crystal Suncatchers
I haven’t gone off the deep end (yet) and meditated while balancing my chakras (okay, maybe once) with family heirlooms. If you read more than one book about the afterlife, you’ll pick up on themes. Psychics love auras, butterflies, and RAINBOWS. Since I’ve got time, I figured it wasn’t hard to put together my own suncatcher. You can certainly purchase these dandies but I prefer my own extremely amateur creations - especially since I need one for every window. Not sure what to do with these colorful messages from beyond but they are a comfort of sorts.
You may have gathered that I wasn’t previously into the paranormal. For instance, I knew that smudging was a thing but now, thanks to Etsy, I have my own kit. Same with healing crystals. As a child from a family of geologists, semi-precious gems, variegated rocks and hefty quartz crystals already held a special awe. I must note that my grandfather never mentioned crystal suncatchers as a method for communicating with the dead. It’s all me who’s hoping for yet another channel where, through refracted sunlight, my wife asserts her presence.
6. Documentaries About Death
It’s a widow habit to categorize life events as ‘before’ and ‘after,’ We use these terms with a wistful air of melancholy apology. We didn’t create these terms but they’re used as handy shortcuts before launching into yet another story about our dead spouses. This next tidbit is about me, though.
I love documentaries but before, I’d skip over the downers. Who wants to watch a flick about eroding habitats when your lawn looks so good? Times change and now after, I’ve completely confused Amazon’s algorithms with my new entertainment searches. I find comfort in tragedy.
I recently watched The Bridge, a documentary on the world’s most dangerous suicide locale - the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. Since it was built, upwards of 1,700 souls have leapt to their nearly assured demise. The doc profiles the families of people actually caught on film at the moment of decision. Should sound awful, right? To me, it’s soothing. Not the suicides, but hearing the family process the death. They’re in the soup with me. Their stories make me feel normal.
Note: Do not actually warm the deceased.
7. Unique Grave Decorations
I’m only sharing this with you because I know you’ll understand. I threw this one in the mix because I had a brief, but intense love affair with unusual grave decorations. Did you know you can get “grave blankets” to keep your loved one warm? Obviously more popular in northern climes, they're actually giant wreaths of evergreen branches to cover the gravesite. Sadly, they aren’t allowed in my wife's cemetery or I’d be all over it. She was always cold…..before.
Switching gears, turning towards the following topics is a sort of exposure therapy. They each flutter at the windows of my mind and blot out the light (which I need for rainbows). I might as well add them to the growing list of crap I have to deal with eventually. Just so you know, I’m not weird enough to literally keep a list (yet).
1. Birthdays, Holidays, and Other Horrible Occasions
I know they’re coming. I limped through some already. May holds the double whammy of Mother’s Day and my birthday. Despite the embarrassing lack of evergreen splendor, we’ll visit her gravesite where I’ve already smuggled in other decorative contraband. Since I buy presents for myself all the time, for my birthday, I generally request a tasteful yet classic homemade card. I’ll get through the anticipatory dread and trudge through the sewage of my lowered expectations. It’s only another 24 hours to get through.
2. Getting Married Again
I can’t even think about what’s next. Or rather who. When I do think about it, I feel sorry for the sad sap who’s attracted to the runner up spot. Here’s the thing, I think about getting married again ALL THE TIME. My fantasy only went as far as imagining waking up in a fully formed relationship. Because I loved being married to my wife, it seemed reasonable to want our life reinstated. As the days turn into months, finding someone new continues to stubbornly insert itself from outside my head. I blame Patty. She always insisted if she died first, she’d want me to remarry. Less charitably, I countered that if I died first, she could never remarry because I’m her one true love. She apparently wants the last word.
To be fair, I am only 45 years old. When my stepson asked, I told him I was going to marry the dogs. He just doesn’t want me to change my last name, so on that we’re cool. Like passing me a note, Patty’s best friend from high school also delicately floated the idea. Even my brother-in-law said he wouldn’t want me to pass up something special. They all want me to be happy. I don’t want to want to get married again. It feels like forcing myself into a loveless, arranged marriage. With my luck, I’ll live another forty years. Maybe I’ll feel differently if my wife sends me a convincing sign.
3. The Next Death
The completely self absorbed grieving person I’ve become can’t even think about the next shitburger tragedy that’s surely on its way.. You’d think I’d have a guess who it might be but you’re wrong. I never would have put my wife on the shortlist but here we are. With new obsessions hoarding space in my grieving mind, it’s too crowded to handle another disaster. So I just don’t think about it.
Early photo of Patty and Laura
If you’re grieving too, I want you to know you’re not a weirdo. Or at least you’re a weirdo like all of us - another broken toy tossed onto Bereavement Island (like Fantasy Island but more sad). I was never particularly interested in psychics, grave ornaments or dead people (beyond famous authors). Grief turns you inside out until you no longer recognize the person you were before. It wasn’t so easy to tip me over and I certainly didn’t cry in public. Falling into grief is similar to falling in love. With both, I lost my appetite, deeply felt things I’d never felt before, and became completely obsessed. In the end, grief is just another stage of love. An unfortunate byproduct of the grandest home improvement project. I’m comforted to realize that even as I’m swept up by transient passions, I’m essentially the same loving partner at my core.