Ritual and Remembrance

I am such a creature of habit. 

I like to be spontaneous and switch it up every once in a while but, on the whole, I like ritual. 

My breakfast is almost always one of two choices: yogurt or oatmeal with fruit and coffee.
I drive the same route to and from work every day.
When I come home, it's the same routine again: shoes off, coat and keys on the hook, feed the cats, get the mail (usually in that order).

When we received Charlotte's initial diagnosis of brain cancer two years ago, our routine was disrupted in a major way.  Our world turned upside down.  Our life for the next year gave us little in the way of regularity.  Living one day at a time was all we could do because treatment protocols, unexpected hospitalizations, and 8 week stints in Houston, Texas kind of put a crimp in your style for maintaining regular routines. The control freak in me was not happy.

Somehow, we managed to find new routines within the chaos. The plan still seemed to switch every time we turned another corner in the treatment process, but our lives embraced new rituals with dressing changes, port flushes, journeys to and from the clinic and hospital (packing...waiting...unpacking...waiting), medication regimens, blood draws, regular scans.  

One of the challenges after a loved one dies is that life without them requires you to create new routines (yet again).   Roger and I have talked a lot in our blogs about anniversaries and holidays. Yes, those days are a challenge in their own right, but  sometimes, it's the everyday and the mundane that shocks your sense of reality the most. 

I walk downstairs and turn into the dining room, expecting to see the makeshift room we created for her.  It was her home base for almost 10 months.  It was her bedroom.  We returned it to dining room status over a year ago now and the sight still surprises me sometimes. 

I go into the store and browse for greeting cards. I see one that Charlotte would like.  I think about buying it. Then I remember that I have nowhere to send it. The same holds true for Dora stickers and adorable outfits and cute pink socks in the dollar bin at Target. 

I wake up early on my day off and think that I will need to get up soon.  She will be awake. Then I remember that she is gone. I could go back to bed if I wanted to. There is small comfort in that opportunity. 

Have you ever lost the electricity in your house for more than a few hours?  If it happens, especially during the daylight hours, it's easy to forget how accustomed you are to having that constant flow of electric current in your home.  You keep walking around your house, trying to turn on lights.  You switch on the TV because it's time for your favorite show.  You put your mug in the microwave to heat some tea.  And nothing happens.  Oh yeah.  The power is out. 

Perhaps part of healing in the grief process involves not only remembering but also in creating new routines and rituals.  There is a delicate balance in all things.  We remember the life that we shared together and we move forward in our life without them.  One day at a time. It's a slow process.  Did I mention that I'm a creature of habit?