My therapist from grief group wanted me to write this story in my blog. When I told it in group it didn’t seem like a big deal, but that’s why it’s good to have other people - sometimes they are able to point things out, that I would completely miss. So here goes...
Several weeks ago my friend Katy and I went to the FIDM (Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising) Fashion Show. It’s a showcase of the work by students from the Advanced Fashion Design and Costume Design programs. Twenty five years ago, Katy and I were both part of the fashion show. I could go on and on about my friendship with Katy, but we were bffs at FIDM. Our styles were about as different as they could be - she was twin sets and pearls and I was fishnet with holes and lots of black. But, we were both perfectionists, both graduated Summa Cum Laude and were both invited to be in the small group for the Advanced Fashion Design program. It was a wonderful night and we got to see several people who were part of our FIDM experience.
As I watched the show, it brought back memories of school, memories of our show 25 years ago. That night was one of the highest moments of my life. I got to see the creations I had conceived and created showcased on a runway, modeled by professional models in a top notch fashion show at the ballroom of the Bonaventure Hotel in downtown L.A. It was the night of my 30th birthday, my friends and family were there and to top it off, I won the top award of the show. As I sat watching the current young designers, it brought on the flood of memories. I remembered the excitement, the joy, the hopes for my future. It was bitterweet. And I am so grateful to have had that night, that experience.
So how does this apply to my grief? I realized that the feelings I had that night are what I someday hope to have about Jim. Remembering with gratitude the joy that was, with a slight sadness that those days are gone.
The therapist pointed out that I now have a vision of what life can look like for me. So I’m visualizing a life, where I can think of Jim without the accompanying wave of grief, loss and sorrow. With just a tinge of sadness, mixed with gratitude. Bitterweetness.
I actually experienced a tiny bit of that last night. It was the Lunar eclipse. Jim was my science guy, my mountain man. He taught me how to sit with nature, how to observe the subtle changes. I remember early on, watching the Perseid meteor shower together. I remember sitting by the window in our house during a lightning storm. We’d turn off all of the lights and watch as if watching tv. When we first met and were camping out full time, we would watch what Jim called “Pet TV” and just watch Misty, the coyote/husky and the cats do their thing. He taught me how to pay attention to the solstices and equinoxes. He taught a city girl how to slow down and be. Just be.
Whenever I look at the sky, I picture Jim’s energy zipping around our Universe, exploring all the things he wanted to know about when he was here. Gravity, black holes, anti-matter. He would often come out of his workroom with “I’ve been thinking” and we’d end up in some weird discussion about gravity.... It’s weird the things you miss when someone is gone.
So last night as I sat there with my Mom, watching the wonder of nature, the beautiful Blood Moon. Mars nearby and bright. I missed Jim. I was sad he wasn’t there to share it with. But I was grateful that we had so many times like that together and grateful that I cared about watching the Lunar eclipse. Jim’s gift to me.
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