My new job is great. I received a lot of money from my military pension, so I don’t need to work full time, but I think I would go insane if I didn’t have a job to do every day. Having this job has saved my life. I work part time at the small municipal airport here as an avionics technician. I repair electrical components on private and small commercial jets. I like it and only have to work three days a week. The remainder of my time I spend with my therapist, my family, Harold, and Katie and enjoying Jayden and my dream home.
The therapy sessions seem to be helping most of the time. Sometimes there are days I want to say screw it and stop going. Dr. Chandler makes me talk about things I don’t want to talk about. She says if we don’t go where it’s uncomfortable, we will never fix what is. Just today, Dr. Chandler said I am getting to the end of the day.
“I’m what?” I ask her curiously.
She chuckles. “Jayden’s death left you shattered, but nonetheless, you are making progress. You are getting there. Each day, you go a little longer without feeling consumed by grief.”
“I won’t stop grieving for her!” I’m angry. How dare she suggest I stop grieving for my wife?
“Calm down, Jake. That’s not what I am saying.” She clears her throat. “Yes, you are shattered. It’s a normal feeling for now. There are pieces everywhere. So far, you have gradually picked up a piece here and there, but in time, you will pick them all up, and much like a piece of fine china, you’ll put it back together again.” She gets up from her chair and walks around to the front of her desk. “It might not resemble what it once was, but it will be together and will be solid.”
“But how can you tell I’ve been picking up pieces here and there? Everything still feels shattered. I still feel lost.”
She smiles. “Believe it or not, every little thing you do each day helps. The packing up the old house, moving to a new one, unpacking in the new house, getting a dog, taking on a new job, and seeing me, as well all the little everyday things you do, like taking a shower, brushing your teeth, cooking, cleaning, laundry, feeding your dog, and whatever else is buzzing round masquerading as insanity could very well be your therapy. It has distracted you enough a minute or so at a time to begin the healing process.”
“What if I forget her? There are times I feel guilty because an hour has gone by and I have not thought about her.” It has been my biggest fear since Jayden died. I can’t forget her. I won’t forget her.
“Oh my goodness, Jake, you will never forget her. Even when you get to the point that you will go days without thinking about her, you will see something, perhaps a favorite flower or one of her books, and she will be in your head for a while. Then life will happen again, and you will get wrapped up in your everyday life and go weeks or perhaps months without thinking of her. This will continue throughout your life, but just because you have gone on with your life doesn’t mean you have forgotten about the woman you loved more than anything. You might even find love again.”
I shake my head. “Hell no. Never.”
She laughs again, and I am a bit annoyed. Why would she remotely even think this is funny? “Trust me, Jake, you’re young and a handsome man. You will love again. It may not be the same kind of all-consuming love like you had with Jayden, but you will.”
I shake my head again. “You’re the expert, but I don’t see it.”
“Tell you what, let’s experiment between now and our next session. For the next two weeks, I want you to pick one hour a day in which to fall apart, grieve, cry, pray, scream, or punch something, preferably not a human or a brick wall. Take this hour to give Jayden’s death your full emotional attention. Set a clock, and don’t go beyond the hour you pick.”
“And what do I do with the other twenty-three hours in the day?”
“You live.” She looks at her watch and says, “Our time is up. See you in two weeks. I’m anxious to see how your hour goes.”
On the drive home, I think about everything Dr. Chandler said. I think about my hour of grief and try to decide which hour. I could pick at the end of the day, but then I am going to bed, and it will be hard to not dream about the grief. Perhaps the middle of the day? I shake my head. That won’t work either. I need to do this first thing in the morning. This way, my grieving is done for the day and I can live as my therapist suggests. I will start tomorrow.
I usually get up around seven each morning and get my coffee. I sit on my front porch in one of those damn rockers and read the paper for an hour or so. On workdays, I make sure I am back in the house by eight so I can shower and be ready to leave for work, I have to be there at nine, so I set my alarm for six-thirty. An extra thirty minutes is not going to hurt me.
Precisely at seven, with my coffee in hand, I step onto the porch. I have no newspaper this time. I set the alarm on my phone for one hour, and I grieve. I go through all the motions. I picture her in my head. I see her smile and those beautiful blue eyes. I see her dancing around the house while she dusts and vacuums. Sometimes I listen to KISS songs or Elton John because I know those were her favorites.
It doesn’t take me long to discover it is hard to squeeze twenty-four hours of grieving, crying, feelings of despair and pain, and feeling like I am on the edge and will fall at any given moment into one hour. And then turn it all off when the alarm buzzes at eight? It’s bad enough cramming all those emotions and feelings into a tight time frame, and it’s even harder to reel them in when the hour is up.
After two weeks of doing this, Dr. Chandler asks, “So how did it go?”
“It was really hard at first, cramming all those emotions into one hour. There were days I would get up early in anticipation for my hour, just so I could get lost in my grief. But I will admit, toward the end, it got a little easier, and that hour has become Jayden’s hour.”
“That’s exactly what I was hoping would happen. I want you to keep it up and stick to the same schedule.”
I did as Dr. Chandler suggested and continued. At my next two sessions, Dr. Chandler didn’t bring up the “Jayden Hour,” as we have labeled it, but at the third session, she asked again.
“Are you still doing the Jayden Hour?” she asks.
“Yes, but I have to admit, some days I sleep through my morning grieving hour, and you can’t even begin to imagine the guilt I feel.”
“That’s exactly what I was hoping would happen.”
I look at her curiously. “Why?”
“Because, Jake, in situations like these, it is not only the surviving spouse who needs to let their loved one go, but the deceased needs to move on too. The days you forget are the days Jayden is moving on too.”
“She needs to move on? I would think she has already done that. I would think she has moved on to a better place. I’d like to think she is in heaven.”
