One Year Later, Thinking of Betty
I’ve passed my one year mark, and have met my “firsts.” Not only the first holidays and birthdays and anniversaries, but also things like the first time I saw sushi in the store and thought “I’ll get some for Betty” then burst into tears; the first time I was watching TV coverage of gay marriage issues and realized it’s not “our fight” anymore, because “we” wouldn’t be getting married; the first cats that came into my life after Betty died and I couldn’t bond with them right away because they weren’t part of my family— because they didn’t know Betty.
Friends have asked how I’m doing and I’m never quite sure what to say. This year has been a time for crawling into my shell, working to take care of myself and let myself grieve. Every once in awhile I poke my head out, look around online and try to reconnect with my world. Then I disappear again. Society seems to think that I need to move on quickly, to embrace the future. In the past, traditional societies mandated a one-year grieving period. Friends who have gone through similar grief have told me to be gentle with myself, that it took them a year-and-a-half to two years to slowly put the grief aside. That’s the journey I’m on, but I get impatient sometimes. The sadness hasn’t gone away, and might never do so. But as time goes on, I don’t mind carrying it as much.
The photo shown is the last photo taken of Betty, November 18, 2012. Brenda Schertz came for a short visit and I’m so glad she said she wanted a picture of us.
Originally, friends and I scheduled a memorial service for Betty today, December 7th. Since I didn’t advertise the date, I didn’t post that it was being postponed for the second time. We just couldn’t get ourselves together enough to plan this. But the third time should work, and we’re making plans for a memorial for Betty in April. More details soon.