Moving the goalposts

I had fairly low expectations of the first anniversary of Jen's death, but I realize now that it still provided a point of reference, a goal. Struggling through the initial intensity of grief for the three of us, I had a buried sense that perhaps it would pass, that somewhere in that first year we would reach a more stable state. Emotionally too, there was a feeling that this was temporary, a holding pattern until 'normal service' could be resumed, an ad hoc adaptation that would only be needed for a few months.

Some of that intensity has indeed passed, but much remains. Secundus still misses Jen a lot, especially when going to sleep. Instead of hanging out for the end-point, it's better to accept that this is how we are now, living with grief. There's no way back to the people that we were before Jen's death, and its fruitless to berate ourselves about that loss. Grief is as deep and as long as love. Our patchwork of after-school pickup arrangements is not temporary, but will continue in some form for years.

Where then are the goalposts? Three years out, or five years? Books on grief have their own timetables. While I'm wary of the prescriptive, it's helpful and perhaps comforting to know that it's OK to take two or three years to get through the worst of it. Without having a firm timeline, I'm still encouraged to think that we can work away at dealing with anger and sorrow, and be satisfied with the small steps forward and back that constitute 'normal' life.