Christmas challenges many, for all kinds of reasons. December arrived and with it our ICU welcomed suicide attempts, ODs and road trauma. It began with the tinsel, early December. Already the stores heralded Christmas consumerism.
Among the decorations, fake snow and up beat carols, shoppers milled and mulled looking for the perfect gift. Some faces shone with the sheer pleasure of it while others fondled the array of offerings in a distracted way. Obligation.
Just this morning browsing through my social media, I found a post on grief. One of my closest friends and I returned from a weekend away at the beach. My parent’s estate enabled me to buy the house and my effort enabled me to renovate it.
This is the third post on the topic of adult orphans. Stepping into another’s shoes, I thought I would follow the lead from our writer’s group and write in second person, ‘you.’ Feeling the pain and isolation of losing one’s last relative, I wondered what it might look and feel like to a partner or friend, watching me going through this life changing experience. So here goes……..
Not long after my father’s death, I met a brother and sister also recently bereaved. We stood on the bow of the boat with the cold winter air blowing in our faces, when the woman said, “So we are adult orphans now.” Her comment resonated deeply within me, although until that day I hadn’t heard the term used.
Recently my publicist asked me to write an article for ‘Adoption Today’ on becoming an adult orphan. Now eleven years after the death of my remaining parent, I still found the task daunting. I wrote it many times, uncertain of the result. Although the darkest valley of grief was behind me, describing the process was quite intense.
On Sunday evening the fog of an impending head cold snuffed out my optimism. The blasted thing possessed a life akin to a chemical fire retardant; lofty intention stalled.
In the fog I stumble calling uncertainly, ”Enthusiasm where are you?”
It hides away like a naughty child with the Nutella jar and a teaspoon.