The One Thing

I’m friends with a woman whom I have always thought to be incredibly strong. I met her in a single mom’s group when I was a single mom. She had shared with me that she wasn’t going to let her divorce get her down.
She committed to do the one thing: putting on her lipstick every day.
“This became my defiant refusal to give in to the despair, fear, worry, self-doubt, etc; that I was battling on the inside," she said. "So, for me, taking the time to face myself in the mirror each morning, affirming my worth by making the best of what I've got to work with, taking a few minutes just for me, carefully highlighting my smile (and yes, damn it, I am going to smile!)... "

Every morning, willing or not, depressed or not, she pulled herself up out of bed and applied her lipstick. I’ve never forgotten my friend’s determination. It reminded me that just maybe during this grieving process, I already have my one thing.

I started this 365 blog just a few days before tragedy came, because another friend mentioned it in passing on her blog. I have to laugh at how many people recommend writing through such an event. Maybe Joan Didion’s book The Year of Magical Thinking was just such an exercise.
Eventually, we get through the period of time that causes us so much pain. When you look over your life what pulls you through? What is your one thing?

Popping the Zeppelin

Today's the day. I'd really rather not go, if it could be avoided, but this day hangs there like a zeppelin on the horizon. The other kids have already done this and had each other to get through it.This is my first visit to the house with out my dad being there. I wondered if I should have gone before now, maybe reality would have sunk in sooner. Maybe for the past month it would have been more real. But I didn't. Too many overwhelming things happened at once.

I offered to visit her the weekend after the funeral, but my stepmother had already made plans with her friend. After that the weeks slipped by and opportunity didn't come up again until this weekend.

St. Anne's , the Catholic church Dad attended, is performing a service in his memory. I have nothing against Catholics. I used to be one. I was raised one. But having moved on to a different kind of faith, I haven't been in their church for years. My step mother's devotion to her late husband is about the only reason that could get me in the door. And this service will come at the end of a day of God-knows-what.

They say being widowed suddenly does strange things to a woman. Some want to throw away everything, and some won't move one single thing. I have no idea where my step mom falls. Even if she's ready to begin parting with some of his belongings, am I ready to take them? Am I ready for the emotional fall-out of not borrowing them but inheriting them?