Good Grief 250(2)

Good Friday. Taken just before heading into the joy of gridlocked bank holiday traffic.
My friend had called by early with some Easter treats and good wishes for the journey after dropping her daughter off at work. As we sat over a coffee the conversation moved to 'sorting'. Their ongoing work on the mother-in-law's who died last year and my sifting through my husband's mass of papers. Before long I was crying tears of deeply hurt anger that he hadn't done this himself and left me with a lifetime of stuff, most of which predated our time together. He had four years knowing, much of it at home when I was working. I know he was very ill. But he had good days. I know that, in some respects at a very deep level, he was avoidant. I know he wanted to live in the moment and make the most of the little time we knew we had and that we just didn't know how long that would be. I know that he had said to a good friend of ours that he was worried about how I would be after he died and that he was sorry that I was going to have to go through it all yet again. And, of course, of course, I understand that he wished it could have been otherwise, and of course we had no choices with regard to his health. But, but, he could have taken some responsibility for his stuff, his life. He could have sorted out some of all of that. He could have thought about it and done it for me. Just living in the moment isn't good enough.

As I headed south, I listened to the Good Friday meditation. I had to pull over I was crying so much.

And then it was a case of entering the world of the other sorting and the joy of family dynamics. The stage was set for something splendidly Greek ...