The Roller Coaster

By Ken Wadland

One of the phrases that they use in books on grieving is "the roller coaster". The concept is that your life becomes a roller coaster with ups and downs. Often the ups and downs come on surprisingly fast, like a roller coaster.

This afternoon, I decided to stop by Vera's grave in Shrewsbury. I have been doing pretty well for a while so I thought I could take it.

I had been to her gravesite three times before. The first was at her funeral. The second was a few days later when Richard drove me. The third was about a month later when my housekeeper, Norma, drove me. This time, a little more than two months after she was buried, I would be driving myself.

When I arrived, I was surprised to learn that her grave was not where I had earlier thought it was. On each of the previous visits there had been snow on the ground. Richard and I saw one area where the ground was slightly higher and appeared to have been disturbed recently. Apparently, this is where they had temporarily placed the sod from Vera's gravesite. Now this other site was flat and clearly had not been disturbed. With no snow remaining, it was now obvious that the grass immediately next to her sister's grave had been removed. There was only dirt. It was in the shape of a coffin and was clearly sinking around the edges as the soil unfroze. Most certainly, this was Vera's grave.

I stood there alone slowly crying as I contemplated that Vera lay below me. It's not logical and it doesn't make any sense but it disturbs me deeply that Vera is in a box. She was so claustrophobic; she would so much hate being trapped in a box. But, here she was in a box buried under the brown dirt, her worst nightmare. But, she and I had discussed her burial shortly after we learned that she might be dying. It's what she wanted so I have to learn to deal with it.

I read the engravings on the footstones of the neighboring gravesites and took photographs of each one. The first was her father's grave. It said, "FATHER, 1913 - 1970, HE CARED A LOT". The next was her mother's grave. It said, "MOTHER, 1919 - 2003, SHE DID TOO!" The next one was lightly covered with dirt, probably from Vera's burial. It was her sister's grave. After I cleaned it with my hand, it said, "LOIS ANNE, 1946 - 1986, SHE MADE A DIFFERENCE". Later this spring, I plan to place a footstone for Vera. I want it to say, "VERA JEAN, 1951 - 2007, SHE LOVED US!"

This brings us to the roller coaster part of the story. Throughout all this time, while taking pictures, examining the stones, etc., I was sobbing. Not gentle tears but long and loud sobs. I'm not someone who normally cried a lot. And, I very rarely sobbed. But, in these last two months, it's become normal for me. As I drove into the cemetery I pretty much expected that I would soon be crying and probably sobbing. And, it didn't bother me. I've accepted the roller coaster. It's become a part of my life.

The flowers on Vera's grave looked very pretty. I don't know much about flowers. All I know is that they're white silk flowers. They looked as if they were alive. They were still bright white. They made the gravesite attractive. Around the flowers were sprigs of pine. The pine needles had also weathered the winter quite well but were starting to turn brown.

What very few people know is who had placed these flowers at Vera's grave. The flowers are directly in front of Vera's grave. I'm sure anyone seeing them assumed that I had put them there. Actually, I was there when the flowers where placed there in December. And, I had taken photos of the flowers at the time. But, I hadn't ordered them; I didn't place them there. I had driven Vera to the cemetery. It was Vera who ordered the flower arrangement and placed it there.

Vera had decided to use fake flowers with live greenery so that her parents' and sister's graves looked nice through the long winter. I'm sure she didn't know that she was decorating her own grave. But, about two weeks after she placed the flowers there, she was buried right next to them.

But, these were winter flowers and it was now spring. I drove to the florists where she had shopped for years and discussed what I wanted in a spring arrangement. They looked up the order that Vera had placed in December and I showed them the pictures I had just taken. Between my tears, I asked if they could create another silk flower arrangement that would be similar but with spring colors.

For years, Vera and her mother had placed flowers at the headstone for Vera's father's and sister's graves. After her mother died, Vera continued alone to tend to the flowers. I now must take over Vera's role and care for the gravesite. This is another stop in my "integrating the loss" process. To carry "us" within me, I need to be the one who does many of the things that "we" used to do.

At least I know with certainty what Vera liked to see at the gravesite. I will do my best to take on her task of tending to the flowers at her site. It's curious since I never bought her or anyone else flowers while she was alive. It was always Vera's role to order flowers, which she did for many occasions.

Because today was Maundy Thursday, the florists were all overloaded getting Easter arrangements ready for Sunday. I told them that picking up the arrangement next Friday would be fine.

Then, I drove home, still crying. After a while I was able to compose myself enough to microwave a prepared dish that my housekeeper had previously made for me. After supper, I put on my square dancing clothes, including my high-heeled dance boots, and headed for my square dancing class.

Now, the down portion of the roller coaster ride was over and I was happy again. I had a great time dancing with my square dance partner Nilva and the other ladies. We would swing and hold hands. I wore a big happy grin the whole evening. Once the caller gave the call to "yellow rock your corner", so I obliged and gave my corner, Lynne, a big hug (which is actually what "yellow rock" means, don't ask me why). It was a wild ride on the "up" portion of roller coaster.

Then, I came home to an empty house and crawled into an empty bed. And then, not entirely unexpected, the roller coaster came crashing down again.

After two hours of trying to sleep I got up and composed this journal. I had to stop often to cry. I sometimes couldn't read the words I had just typed through the tear drops. But, writing felt good and it helped me.

It doesn't surprise me that I get very sad at Vera's grave. It doesn't surprise me that I often have trouble falling asleep alone in an otherwise empty house. It doesn't even surprise me that I can truly enjoy dancing moments after crying.

What does surprise me is that I'm getting used to the roller coaster and it doesn't bother me anymore. I can cry; I can laugh. I can sometimes do both nearly simultaneously. That's becoming a normal part of my life.

On the memory card in my camera I have photos of me with several new facial hair arrangements. (I'm experimenting with different styles to find out which ones the ladies like best so that I can get ready for dating.) On the same memory card there are photos of me square dancing, which I had someone take last week during class. And, on that same memory card there are now photos of Vera's grave. On Saturday, I'm planning to hike in Westborough with Nancy, a widow I met on-line through an Internet dating site. I plan to ask Nancy to take a photo of me wearing my backpack along the hiking trail. I plan to post it on my on-line dating profile page.

What is strange is that this doesn't seem very strange to me. It's now seems perfectly OK to me to have photos of Vera's grave side-by-side with photos of me hiking and dancing with other ladies and getting ready to date. It's not strange because that's become my new life. I grieve; I move on. I grieve; I move on. I typically do both every day.

That's what the roller coaster is. It's up; it's down. You learn to go with it. Don't resist it. During the down drops, don't fear that you'll never be happy again. On the up swings, don't feel guilty that you're having fun even if your loss was recent. It's not a contest; it's not a failure or a victory. It's just what my life has become.

One of my books on grieving refers to a "psychic scar". A regular scar hurts when it's bumped even when it's mostly healed. A psychic scar hurts when it's bumped and it probably won't ever completely heal.

I expect I'll be riding this roller coaster for quite some time. The down drops arrive less often now. I'm near the top of the loop most of the time now. The roller coaster has become a part of my life. And, that doesn't bother me anymore. I'm very happy now most of the day. Occasionally, I'm very sad. And, that's OK.

March 20, 2008

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