My Heart is Mending: Hope Restored

I find myself in the chair of the dental hygienist. She is a gifted teacher at heart and usually provides a running commentary for the 40 minutes that she is busy. “Your gums are a healthy pink – you are obviously doing something right.” Included in the session is a lesson on how to floss and how to brush at the right angle. Today I stop her before she can even begin. “I have attended a training course the past two days and my ears are full. Could you please work in silence today?” The radio blares in the background. Her ears are not in the sensitive category. “I know I should not talk, but I have to tell you that your cheek muscles are so much more relaxed than a year ago. We often carry our stress in our face, clenching our jaw or having tense cheek muscles.” How on earth does she remember what the tension in my cheek muscles was a year ago? It is probably part of her unique memory storage for her job. I know that my clients have remarked that I have the memory of an elephant for small details they shared with me long ago. She succeeds in being quiet for half of the session and then asks me what book I am currently reading. She is so courteous to take her tools out of my mouth that I can answer. I am reading “The right to write” by Julia Cameron. That does not sound like a novel, she replies and proceeds to tell me about the book she is reading. “Oh, I just can’t be quiet for so long.” To be quiet is a skill to acquire.

It is my six weekly play-day. My beautician feels very guilty because she could not source the special mask that I love. “We need to have a counseling session about the inappropriate guilt you carry. Do you remember that it was the first thing I mentioned to you after I had my first facial with you five years ago?” My elephant memory for detail kicked in. She made a nervous giggle. “Excuse me, I am just fetching warm water.” “Why do you ask me to excuse you? Just tell me you are fetching warm water.” She laughs and walks off. She talks throughout the session, happy to have my understanding ears available. Having a mask on, I am not required to reply. Silence is in short supply today.

I have my hair cut for a photo shoot. It is a new season and time to update the photo on my email signature and website. Going to my hairdresser is like attending church in a different setting. While my hair is washed, I listen to the current client and how she advises the hairdresser to be thankful for something that obviously went very wrong. “Yes, we need to rejoice in the Lord” my hairdresser replies. When it is my time to sit in her chair, she invites me to tell her everything. “How are you doing and how are your children?” “My words are finished today”, I said. “Tell me about your sister’s visit to South Africa and about her life in Italy.” I successfully divert her. The words tumble out of her mouth endlessly. I live in such silence and solitude as a widow, that I am astonished at all the noise people make.

When I looked at the clothes in my cupboard last night, I realized that nothing matched the colour of the frame of my glasses. I stop at a local store in search of a blue top. Blue communicates safety and trust. Blue was the colour of your eyes. Strange to remember that now. The shop attendant is making small talk with me. I just want to pay and get out of there. I miss the silence of my house. I check the time on my watch. I am hungry for the comfort of our favourite pancakes. There is enough time before my appointment with the photographer. The traffic irritates me. The robots take ages before they turn green. In my new town there are no robots. Only a handful of stop signs. I buy two pancakes and give the baker the extra money for the three that you would have eaten my Beloved. Her eyes are pools of sorrow. I wonder what or who she is mourning? I do not take the time to ask.

The GPS declares that I have arrived at my next destination. The photographer is friendly and quiet. I sent him an email to brief him about what I want. The photo should communicate that I am friendly, approachable and professional. Not overly happy as that feels currently inappropriate. He guides me with a soft voice. Chin up. Lean slightly forward into the lens. I smile. The shutter of the camera clicks. It is the only sound that breaks the silence. I breathe and relax.

After a quick lunch with my friend, I rush off for an appointment with the chiropractor. Since I packed up our house and moved, I have a problem with my back. At first I thought it was all the heavy boxes I picked up. Now I know that it is the weight of your unexpected death that I carry with me. It is the heaviness of your absence that I face when I wake up and carry on living without you. The chiropractor confirms that my lower vertebra, L4, is out of alignment again. He positions me gently and drapes my arms like a puppet. I find it so funny that I burst into laughter. All the stress of the day bubbles over and I cannot stop myself. He asks that I turn to the other side and repeats the process. I laugh contagiously and eventually he laughs along. I like the sound of my laughter. I do not often hear it anymore. It used to be my mission to make you laugh every day.

It is the next day. I go for my usual walk on the beach. The caravan park is full with weekend visitors. Two small boys ride along on their bikes, zigzagging between the tents. Our eyes meet, but we do not speak. On my way back, I bump into them again. This time the smallest one stops in front of me and starts talking. “My Daddy died. I have a new Daddy now.” I am speechless. He does not need me to comment. He just needed to share his news with me. With a goodbye, he rides off. Why would he tell me that? Does grief have a radar that connects people who are mourning? “It is your calming presence,” my dog walker comments. “I always feel better after talking to you.”

It is the end of the day. Load shedding commences as I am preparing for tomorrow’s grief circle. I read about the different models of grief. Tonight I resonate with the four aspects that Freud identified. “Recognize and accept the loss. Mourn the loss and express your grief. Perform the new tasks that life forces upon you. Look to a new kind of future.” In my mourning, I find myself out of alignment with society. I struggle to talk about the weather, politics and even about God. No, I have not lost my faith. It is just shaken by the earthquake of your death my Beloved. I can no longer offer glib platitudes and reassurances. I find that I am silent in God’s presence as well. It is not an uncomfortable silence. There are not many urgent prayers in my prayer bowl anymore. I no longer ask Him to keep you alive. As the dental hygienist remarked: “Your cheek muscles are more relaxed than a year ago.” Living alone is less complicated.

I asked my handyman to make a name board for my new house. It says: “Hope restored.” In our grief circle tomorrow we will share the load of our grief. There will be tears. There will be laughter. There will be a silent understanding that does not require explanations. I value silence these days. People use too many words. I jealously guard my time and my space to create the silence I need to grieve while my heart is busy mending. Psalm 46:10 “ Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 62:5 “Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from Him.” I am so thankful that my alignment with God is not out. He is the Source of my hope.