As I’ve mentioned an endless amount of times, there are so many things that I miss about Pete. I probably haven’t even gotten a grasp on all of them. One of the daily occurrences that I long for the most, and I noticed the moment Pete was gone, was the time we spent together reflecting on how our day had gone.
Throughout the day we would touch base on whatever projects we had been working on, but it was more than just comparing notes. Pete’s advice was always grounded in so much reason. He was a wonderful sounding board, and my greatest champion, next to my father. If I was on a ledge and ready to launch into a problem less than gracefully, he could offer ways of communicating that might be less aggressive. Alternately, if I was lacking in assertiveness, he might remind me what my job was and encourage me to stay focused and forge ahead.
I believe I offered him a similar type of feedback on everything from what songs to put on his set list, to how to handle a stalking fan, to which haircut of his was my favorite. (Answer?-long hair.)
I will still forget, for a split second that I can’t talk to him and might jump into my car after a late show working with a client, reach across the seat to grab my phone to call him, and tell him all about it.
So, I can’t solve this problem, but I’ve come up with a small patch–I write to him at night.
Three weeks after Pete died, I thought that I would die from not being able to talk to him. I was going crazy. So I bought a leather-bound notebook, and started writing almost every night.
Dear Pete... The first months were excruciatingly painful entries from a woman in the deepest throes of grief.
I was at Walgreens today looking for a housewarming card for Kip & John. I saw all the cards lining the aisle—Love, Sweetheart, Birthday for Him, for Her, etc…and I thought how sad it is that I’ll never give or receive those again.
I’m overwhelmed. Overworked. Scared. And I need you to help me know what to do. I’m listening.
It offered only a smidge of relief but I would accept anything to help alleviate the pain and seemingly endless tears.
For months and months I mostly talked about myself–my problems and my profound grief. I’m sure Pete understood, but eventually I could hear him saying, “For God’s sake, get a grip. There must be something redeemable happening during your day.”
I heard what he was saying and I listened. So I started telling him about some of the brighter things happening with me, and the kids, and his family.
I tell him about cousin’s weddings in Yosemite, about his high school friends “getting the band back together,” about Sean’s new album and that his friend Alan is producing it, about James and the marathon, about Joyce and Kenneth–our Martha’s Vineyard neighbors. I don’t tell him about people who are sick or who have died. It doesn’t seem appropriate, and I’m sure he already knows.
I now have two Dear Pete journals filled. Writing in them doesn’t fill the holes in my heart, or solve my yearning for him, but it’s a patch.
Do you have a “grief” journal, or another way that you talk to your loved one?