For the Present

Just when I thought it was safe to look at Google News again, Psychology Today zapped me with another one of its helpful articles from Mark Travers, Ph.D. This one is about how to handle my catastrophic thinking. Mark explains that catastrophizing is distorted thinking or a malfunctioning thought process. I’m certainly with you there, Mark. I have had tons of that since Sarah died. It’s probably the aspect of grief that is the hardest for me.

Yesterday I unpacked and assembled a new loveseat that I bought from Wayfair. Polly the Beagle had pretty much done a number on the old one, which is under one of her favorite windows in the dining room for keeping track of her frenemy, the mailman. After I put it together I had a short internal dialogue/anxiety attack that went something like this:

Me: When Sarah comes back, she might not like the new loveseat. Maybe I shouldn’t have ordered it.

Myself: Of course she’ll like it, she was always excited when we got new things. She’ll be happy when she gets back.

My mind: Idiot. Sarah is not coming back.

And scene. Dissolve to crying.

Mark says that instead of catastrophizing about my imaginary/irrational thoughts, I should (1) come back to the present; (2) pick a time to worry; and (3) consider therapy. Coming back to the present reminds me of one of my all-time favorite books, “Ramona the Pest” by Beverly Cleary. If you haven’t read it, or haven’t picked it up since kindergarten, do search out a copy. Anyway, Ramona’s kindergarten teacher tells her to sit in a certain classroom seat “for the present.” Naturally, Ramona, who may or may not have been on the spectrum, assumes she is getting a gift. As the school day passes by, she becomes quite disappointed when her gift does not materialize. Ramona, the injustice was clear!

The second thing that “coming back to the present” makes me feel, is that within this cycle of irrational thoughts, coming back to the present is the worst part of all. Remembering or reminding myself over and over that Sarah is dead and is not coming back, ever, is really really hard and painful. It zaps me like an electric shock.

Last week I read Joan Didion’s very beautiful “The Year of Magical Thinking” and she described not being able to part with her husband’s shoes for a year after he died because of the magical, irrational thought that he would be back and would need to wear them. It was so good to know that other people who are grieving experience these kinds of weird thoughts too. She said at the end of the book words to the effect that eventually you manage to hold space for the dead in your present life but begin anew without them. It’s very hard to consider that right now. I guess I have to give it more time.