Endings
It always feels like the winter solstice and the lengthening of the days should mean the end of winter, not the beginning.
It should be a reprieve from the darkness and chill when in reality, we have two or three more months of it. Or maybe I’m just bitter because there is nothing about our seven-day weather forecast that looks even remotely ok.
There are parts of the holidays that I enjoy. But mostly, I’m just tired.
The whole month has a feeling of ending. And there is so much reflection. Don’t get me wrong, I love reflection. My brain basically lives in reflection mode. But reflection and endings together just feel all mellon collie and the infinite sadness. So many “Those who we have lost” retrospectives. Both my grandparents died in December (when I was in high school and college). Maya died last week. All of this happened under the lights of a Christmas tree that remind you that you “should” be feeling festive, merry, and motherfucking bright. glares
I’ve barely done laundry in a month. The dishes are piling up. I haven’t wrapped a single Christmas gift.
My last appointment with my therapist was yesterday. Or, I guess she’s not my therapist when I’m writing about her anymore. I guess I’ll call her FormerTherapist from now on. But yesterday, when I sat on her couch, she was still my therapist for the hour.
Most of the session felt almost normal, even though I knew it wasn’t. For once, my feelings were protecting me from my knowings. This vague and thin distancing from the grief held up until about five minutes before the end of the session, at which point I did briefly consider refusing to leave the couch.
Instead, I slowly slipped my feet back into my shoes. While I zipped up my jacket, I asked for a hug. In 9+ years, I don’t think we’ve ever touched beyond the passing of a phone or pen – but this seemed like the time. She said, “of course!” and we hugged for a few seconds, at which point I pulled away because I was sure that if I kept the hug going any longer, I would not only refuse to leave her office but actually collapse dramatically against her.
Walking out of her office, I had to remember not to say, “see you next week!” like we usually did.
Then I went to my car and sobbed for five minutes.
Ending therapy is very different than finishing therapy.
I’ve said this before, but we so rarely have to miss people anymore. I can tell you what the sunset looked like from my tenth-grade English teacher’s balcony in Italy or what my former coworker had for dinner last night. We might miss the closeness when a friend moves away, or a friendship fades, but we can still comment on photos of their adorable pets or text them to say, “Hey, I was just thinking of this funny thing I knew you’d enjoy!”
But that’s not the case here. This feels very much like a mix between a breakup and a death.
I hope I see her again someday, yet I have some of the specific worries you might have about losing a loved one; that I will forget her voice or the smell of her office, for instance. And wanting to reach out in the usual way but not being able to.
The last 24 hours have been hard. I did send FormerTherapist one last email thanking her for our time together. But I’ve also mentally started so many emails or thought about so many things to tell her “next week” when next week will never come. I keep starting to compose emails about my feelings about her leaving. It’s very meta in my brain right now.
Recently, I wrote about anticipatory grief. I think of that as falling more on the “dread” side of the spectrum. It lives with anxiety. The grief that comes later feels sadder. More defeated. Sometimes. As I write this, I’m reminded that grief isn’t the same from one time to the next. There isn’t a formula for it.
Maya’s death was acutely sad when it came, but it doesn’t weigh as heavily on me from moment to moment. I haven’t lived with her in years and don’t have to deal with the empty house, the food dropped on the floor that goes uneaten, or the quiet left behind. I’m sad, yes, but I didn’t have the anticipation or expectation of a specific relationship ahead that didn’t come to fruition.
Even the fun things feel like endings. I’m supposed to go see Jump, Little Children on Friday in Winston-Salem for their last-ever tour (seriously, when am I going to wrap presents?). This doesn’t affect my day-to-day life, but even still, there’s a certain nostalgic grief to it. I think it’s what makes people miss “the good old days.” Sometimes I think the barrier between past and present is not as opaque in my brain as it is in other people’s. My brain feels like a constant montage reel. I don’t even mean that metaphorically. There is literally a montage going on the second nostalgia pops up in my brain. Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about copyright infringement with the soundtrack.
Speaking of soundtracks, I did send FormerTherapist a playlist of songs that felt meaningful to me in relation to therapy, our relationship, mental health, and my inner monologue. The whole of it has a seasonal arc that felt right when I was putting it together.
I did not, however, put winter at the end.
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