Chapter 15 #2
She just nodded. “For the next year, it was all about maintenance. My job was to just take care of him. He got sicker and weaker, and it got harder. I hate to admit it, but it almost felt like my life was ending too. As if, instead of just being put on hold, my life was over. I suppose it might’ve just been exhaustion. As you know, caregiving is tiring.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“It’s weird to think I’ve never really told anyone this part of my story before, but it really did feel like I was dying.
Or maybe I just wanted to die.” She paused as Fiona came over to set down their orders and refill water glasses.
And then, more eager to tell her story than to eat, Riva let it spill out, explaining how hard it was to assume all the household responsibilities once he was gone, including the things that Paul used to do.
“The extra work combined with the physical aspects of helping Paul with everything, well, it just seemed to take over our whole world. Hobbies or anything outside of the house fell to the wayside. Frankly, even if I had the time, I didn’t have the energy.
Other than Laurel, who kept pressing into my shrinking world, bless her heart, I quit socializing altogether.
” She sighed. “To be honest, I feel like I sort of did die then.”
“You still feel like that?”
She shrugged. “I think I sometimes do. Like the other night, after dinner—with the music and dancing and all—it felt kind of . . . surreal. Like I was enjoying myself and then I couldn’t. I just had to get away.”
“I get that. I think we can get stuck in our grief sometimes. Especially if we don’t make a conscious effort to get unstuck.”
She picked up her fork to try her salad, then stopped.
“I guess what caught me off guard most of all that night was how angry I felt. I never really believed in the anger stage of grief. Didn’t think I needed to go through it.
I couldn’t even relate.” She forked into a cherry tomato. “But I felt angry that night.”
“We all grieve differently, but I got lots of experience with the anger stage unfortunately.” He bit into his roast beef on rye.
She stared curiously at him. “Are you past it?”
He nodded as he chewed. “I think I am, but I guess it could sneak up on me. Kind of like it did on you. But hopefully it’s behind me by now.”
“Well, that’s encouraging.” She took a bite, still mulling over her own unexpected anger issue, wondering how often it would take her by surprise. “I couldn’t really figure out what my anger was about. I mean, it came at me so hard and fast. It was pretty unsettling. And embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” he asked.
“Well, hiding out in the house when you were all outside having such a good time. I felt like a party pooper!”
“I was curious where you’d gone, but no one else seemed to notice or mind.”
She wondered if that was supposed to be encouraging but couldn’t help musing that the other women, particularly Kitty, were probably glad to reduce the female population that night.
“Want to know what I’ve learned about anger?” He wiped his mouth with his napkin, then sipped his soda.
“Absolutely.”
“My theory is that most anger is the direct result of feeling a loss of control.” He took another bite.
“So I was angry because of a loss of control? Control of what?”
He swallowed. “Well, when you get right down to it, there is very little—if anything—in this life that we can control. But going through the death of a loved one really seems to drive this home. It did for me. It’s like you do everything you can, practically kill yourself doing it, and they still die.
You can’t stop it or control it. And that makes us angry. ”
“I get that,” she said, pushing her food around her plate. “But I still don’t know what triggered me that night.”
“Maybe you felt a loss of control in that social situation. Think about it, you’ve taken in all these tenants, some you barely know, and they are living in your home.
The home you’ve had to yourself since Paul passed.
It’s like you had a little control, but now you have all these roommates .
. . maybe that feels like a loss of control. ”
She considered this. “Well, that kinda makes sense. But I don’t recall feeling like that, resenting my housemates.
Not on that particular evening, at least. I’d been having a good time.
” She picked up her water. “Come to think of it, that might’ve been the problem.
I felt guilty for having fun. Like my life was supposed to be over with.
Like after Paul died, I should’ve been buried with him.
“I think I was frustrated because it felt wrong to enjoy myself,” she added.
“I felt guilty. Like I was a dead person, and dead people shouldn’t have fun.
And that made me mad and disgusted at myself for being such a pathetic mess.
I suppose that made me feel just plain angry.
” She pounded a fist on the table for emphasis. “It felt terrible.”
“That makes total sense. So how are you feeling right now? Are you feeling guilty for enjoying yourself? Does that make you angry? I don’t know about you, but I’m having a good time right now.” His eyes twinkled. “I’m enjoying your company, Riva, and I don’t feel angry or guilty.”
“Thanks. And in honest answer to your question, I’m not quite sure how I feel.
Not guilty exactly . . . maybe a little uneasy.
But I have enjoyed your company, Marcus.
Even exchanging sob stories has been encouraging.
It’s good to know I’m not alone. I suppose that’s why I went to the grief group. Even if we did end up playing hooky.”
“I think we had our own support group. I know I feel better. I hope you do too.”
She smiled. Sincerely this time. “I do feel better. I appreciate your insight and how you’re further down the grief trail than I am.
Your journey was definitely different and, honestly, it sounds like it was a lot harder.
But seeing you’re past it, or nearly there, is encouraging.
” She paused as Fiona returned to the table.
“Anything else for you two?” she asked brightly.
After they declined, she handed them both a flyer.
“This is the new schedule for our band.” She pointed to the first gig.
“We’re playing at The Brewery Friday night—that’s tomorrow.
In case you’re interested. It’s our first time playing there.
It’s a grand venue, but they cater to a crowd that’s a bit younger and rowdier.
” Her expression suddenly looked concerned.
“The owner there is fretting we won’t pull in enough traffic so I’m begging everyone I know to come and show support. ”
“I’d love to come,” Marcus told her.
“And you, Riva?” Fiona looked hopeful.
“I, uh, I don’t know.”
“Afraid to get out and have some fun?” Marcus teased.
She sat up straighter, feeling slightly defensive. “As a matter of fact, I’m ready to have some fun.” She nodded at Fiona. “Count me in.”
“Brilliant.” Fiona beamed. “I’ll save a table right in front for you two.”
As Fiona returned to the counter, Riva was already questioning herself.
Going out on Friday night was way out of her wheelhouse.
Did this mean she and Marcus were going there together?
Like on a date? Because that wouldn’t fly with Laurel .
. . or Kitty. Maybe it was best to pull the plug before it turned into a feud among friends.
“Are you okay?” Marcus peered at her curiously. “You look troubled.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Don’t you think you deserve an evening out, listening to good music with good company?” His eyes twinkled.
She studied him. Did he think this was going to be a date or was he just teasing her?
She was probably overthinking this whole silly thing.
“That’s not it,” she began slowly, trying to think of a graceful way out of what could be an awkward mess.
“It’s just that Fiona said she was begging everyone to go.
That makes me think my housemates will all be there too . . .”
“Is that a problem?” he asked.
She shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant. “I hope not.” But underneath her calm veneer was worry. She wasn’t sure how she’d react if Laurel or Kitty got worked up over seeing her with Marcus. “It’s just that I wouldn’t want them to think we were, uh, on a date.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t be a date,” he assured her. “Just a couple friends going out to hear some music. And if your housemates come along, we’ll all just be there in support of Fiona and her band. Right?”
“Of course. You’re right.” She forced a smile, trying to feel reassured that she and Marcus were on the same page.
Although the whole idea still made her uneasy.
She knew that Laurel could read anything she wanted into this.
Not to mention Kitty. But maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe Riva just needed to lighten up.