You would have thought that grief would hit you continuously, but it doesn’t. Instead it is a sea and you are the land, it washes over you. Sometimes like a tsunami and sometimes gently, not even covering your toes.
Think of it like this. When Roland was alive, we held, between us a metaphorical sphere of love. It was big, about the size of a football. We would keep it in the air by throwing it between us. If one of us carried it, the other would have time off. We always had it though. Then he died. That ball of love never got any smaller, but now it was precious. So I held it fast and tight to my chest. Eventually I had to put it down or I would drown. So, I formed a metaphorical bucket out of parts of my life and I put that ball in there. Sometimes I would take it out and throw it into the air. But that would bring remembrance and grief so I have to make sure I can survive the wave. Most of the time I keep it in that bucket. Except now I am on my own I keep more than Roland’s love in there.
My family and what I am doing, how I am doing it. Sometimes that ball hits the sides. I get a grief wave, but it is not as constant as when I held that love in my arms. Instead, I have a free hand to hold something else. Lately I have noticed that the thing I hold in a clenched fist is guilt.
Guilt about my actions and how others have behaved. As if I can affect what others do. But that is my autism. I second guess people. I try to see what they will do and how they will behave. I am right about two thirds of the time. But that last third can be awful. If people behave are differently and mean, I start to overthink. I wonder how I could have changed for them to behave correctly.
I don’t hold the love then, instead I look at it and pick out potential snippets of where I failed. Where I was not able to predetermine what was going to happen. Then I argue that the space I occupy should be handed to another. One better able than I.
The problem is that I am creating a space here that has only one thing – to be for me. I am turning the bungalow into a cave that I will feel safe in. Where I can create and wander at will. I have even worked out how to create an outside living room for use in the summer. This space will allow me to exist without triggering my allergy to high temperatures. I’m working it out. But I am being selfish about it. One thing I can’t afford is to get anxious about it. I can do this. I am allowed to do this. My way of life is not too unusual and I don’t need to to conform.
I have got to stop staring into that bucket though. It can mean days lost in anxiety and worry. I need to strap it to my back and carry on living. The only problem is, watching that bucket is alluring. When your future has been wiped out, staring at the past is too easy.
The task this next few days is to push past this and carry on creating a home for me. And to not feel guilty about it.
Kate Murray - Cleaver 