People ask if I’m doing okay. I’m getting by.

Getting up and getting dressed has become habitual again, rather than the mental whip and chair routine with which I forced myself up for the first four months after William passed away. This doesn’t mean I have been able to put away the whip and chair, but being able to get up and get dressed without them is progress.

The five o’clock blues isn’t as bad as it used to be, but it still hits me from time to time, when I’m tired, look at the clock and think I should be starting his supper. The feeling that I forgot to kiss and wave him goodbye each morning is almost gone and resurfaces only in an occasional “I know I’ve forgotten something” moment on my way down the stone walk to feed the ponies. It helped to move his car to the front driveway, out of sight. The little mind tricks help. When you begin and end your day with the same rituals for almost two decades, they can be hard to let go, but I get by. I’m seeking new rituals.

Weekends are pretty bad still, just because they’re now no different than Mondays or Thursdays, so I need to work on making them different. Maybe it’ll be easier to do this when I get the patio finished and can invite people over on weekends, but I know that too is a trap. I can’t wait until something is done to make things different or I might never make things different. I need to find affordable weekend activities, old things that used to make me happy before William or new things that captivate my spirit now.

I still have to haul out the whip and chair to motivate myself to do simple things, but I’m getting by. I know that keeping my brain and hands busy helps, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to motivate myself to keep my hands and brain busy. Sometimes, finding things I want to do, rather than need to do, is what will get me up and motivated. Before the momentum slows, I do the things I need to do. The only problem with that technique is that there is so little that I want to do right now, or so little that I can afford to do any more, that getting started by dangling a want to do carrot in front of my cart horse is pretty low on the list of successful motivations. Most of the time, it’s just the whip and chair force of will. Sort of like shoving a manual transmission car along until it can be popped into gear and started.

When I had to plan the memorial service for William it was really the last thing in the world I wanted or needed. I hope I’m not the only wife who has felt that way, and I suspect I’m not. I felt empty, lost, confused, terrified and certainly not ready for public. I wanted to transport myself back in time at least ten years. I didn’t want anyone around me who was liable to say something comforting like “He’s better off” or “God needed him more” or any of a hundred other trite and truthless statements by people who feel the need to say something when they have no idea what to say to make you or themselves feel better. Everyone told me I needed this memorial. I didn’t. Everyone told me it would be good for me. It wasn’t. A memorial did not solve a damned thing for me. It was simply one more thing I needed to get to the end of to appease others. Kind of like sitting for two hours at the local city offices to get all the death and marriage certificates everyone was demanding, or sitting for hours at the dining table filling out forms and categorizing bills for medical expenses that started arriving the day after he died. What I did know, was that William would have absolutely hated a traditional, wear your best clothes, lots of flower arrangements, solemn service with his physical remnants on display.

Several years ago, my best friend was telling me about a memorial gathering she was helping to put together for a friend of hers. Their plan was a sort of This is My Life for the deceased and was so much more meaningful than a formal service that has less to do with remembering and honoring the life that was, and more to do with just a clean and shiny ceremony. I don’t want anyone standing up to talk about me that hasn’t at least taken me out to eat or gotten tipsy in the pool with me and I knew William wouldn’t either. So, the first thing I did on Billiam’s To-Do List, was to invite everyone over for a party catered by his favorite BBQ restaurant.

I asked his family and friends to bring pictures and to write down their best memories and funniest stories about their experiences with William. Here at the house, my best friend and I washed several hundred of the models he’d built and placed them around the house on display, printed out funny Williamesque quotes from his Facebook page, had pictures printed, and delegated things like drinks, napkins, seating and tables to family and friends who were desperate to have something to do other than wring their hands in helpless sorrow. Because the gathering would be in our backyard that William had planted so beautifully, there was no need for flowers so we asked people to please make a donation to one of his favorite organizations. We plastered the front door, the walls, cabinet doors, refrigerator, interior doors and his desk with the photos, and all of the printed quotes and stories. When we were done, everywhere we looked there was William. We had a computer running a slideshow of photos of his happy faced antics on the table. His ashes were where he spent much of his quality alone time, in his chair at his model building and painting table in his office. His lovable spirit was everywhere.

We had guests enter at the front door where we had posted his favorite Star Trek meme, a note explaining that they were here to get to know the multi-faceted man he was, to laugh, and to share their own fun experiences. There was also a very important note regarding what not to say and what it was safe to say to the widow. This gave people a safe guideline to help them find the right things to say and to help me through a terrible day without feeling the need to bite anyone on the ankles. Guests aren’t going to know what to say, so give them a list. When people come up to you and fumble around with “I’m so sorry”, “He’s out of pain” and other platitudes, you’re going to tune them out and only  remember about 10% of what they say at the memorial service for the love of your life. On the other hand, if all you hear is “The food is great!”, “The yard looks Great!” “No wonder he liked it out here so much!” and “His tractor really IS as ‘groovy’ as he said” then you’ll remember the experience more fondly.

When people leave and tell you that when they pass on, they want this exact type of memorial, you know it was right. People breathed easier being able to laugh, without the pressure of what to say, they truly got to know, appreciate and honor William and I was just able to stay out of everyone’s way and allow them the closure they hoped to find.