Hiding in Plain Sight

[Brenda Hoskins]

Recently, I found myself sitting clear through the credits of a movie I had just seen and I laughed out loud.  Anyone sitting near me (and there were a couple even though it was a midweek matinee), would, I am sure, think they had missed something funny.  I laughed because I was scanning the names as they rolled by—looking for the name of one of my sons.  I know, that seems a really strange thing to do, but it has an explanation.  My husband had this theory, that if we saw the names of our sons roll by in the credits, it was a sign.  When I asked him what it was a sign of, he would just smile mysteriously.  “Something good is going to happen,” he’d say.  So, from then on, we would each search earnestly through the names as they flew by, certain in what we would see. 

So I DID see one of my sons’ names.  Spelled correctly and occurring no less than 15 times.  I also saw my husband’s name.  27 times.  Is that a sign of something good to come or have I seriously crossed over the line that separates amusingly eccentric from seriously crazy?  Granted, my husband’s name is very, very common so it is not surprising to see it in the credits.  What struck me is that I never really noticed it before.  What other things are out there that I have failed to notice? 

What do I not see that I should pay attention to?  People who don’t know me, or don’t know me well, would probably never guess that I am a complete mess.  Well, maybe I am less of a mess than I was before, but still pretty much a hot mess.  What is it about me that they do not see?  What is it about others that I don’t see?  I am learning to really see people in a way that I never have before.  What’s going on under the surface, I wonder.  I don’t understand how people who have suffered a major loss in their lives can just get up, go to the grocery store, function at work, attend social gatherings, and graciously accept the kind thoughts of others.  I didn’t trust myself not to lose it at work so I took 6 months off.  I was fortunate in being able to do so.  I was/am uncomfortable with the scrutiny I felt in the presence of others and basically hibernated during that time.  I suffered panic attacks and meltdowns.  But I did it in the privacy of my own home. 

 

It’s awful and it’s devastatingly painful and unfortunately, unavoidable.  For those of you who kept their lives going during those first months, I salute you.  I was simply unable to do so.  There were times that I didn’t think I would make it through that, and others when I really didn’t want to.  But, the truth is, I didn’t have a choice. 

 

I went to a grief counselor but I really didn’t see it helping at all.  She just kept telling me that everything I was going through was “normal.”  Funny - it didn’t FEEL normal.  It felt deeply wrong.  There finally came a time - it was on New Year’s Day, almost 7 months after my husband died that I hit a turning point.  I sat there in our chairs where we usually sat having coffee in the morning looking out at the frozen river and made a decision.  I would have to lift my head up, look forward and try to make a life for myself.  It wasn’t that simple, of course, but almost every day since then I have taken a baby step or two.  Sometimes I fall down, but I get back up again. 

 

Now, at the 9 month mark (ironic, isn’t it? – 9 months of gestation, excruciatingly painful labor of grief, to give birth to a different life), I find myself sitting here looking out over that same frozen river.  I am struck with the thought that I am a lot like that river.  It appears still and peaceful on the surface, but you know there is a lot going on underneath.  The river is now beginning to thaw, as am I.