Trying to rediscover my balance

My outdoor Christmas lights are up.

Unlike those who make this an art form, my Christmas light display is usually a hodge-podge string of haphazard design. It has the look of a project that’s in the early stages, like I had to quit and run off before finishing up.

Outdoor Christmas lights were a mainstay at Just Wright Citrus World Headquarters on the shores of Big Lake Henderson. I put them up one year and never took ‘em down. Same thing with the artificial Christmas tree.

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Year-round Christmas provided some challenges. Turns out, most places don’t sell Christmas tree lights in July. I never took to Amazon the way Deb did, so if I couldn’t find it at a store, it couldn’t be found.

The late Big Lots always seemed to have the Christmas lights earlier than anyone else. They started providing shelf space around mid-summer; I tried to keep spare boxes of Christmas lights on hand.

I doubt that’ll be the case here at World Headquarters III. For one thing, and I cannot over-emphasize this, very few human persons see my house on a daily basis. Visitors here and there, but when I say I’m isolated, I’m isolated. 

The Christmas lights, then, are for God and me. I have them on a timer between 6 p.m. and 6 a.m. It’s like shouting glad tidings through the dark, quiet night.

My point: I’m trudging through this.

Each day of Deb’s passing is both a little bit easier and challenging. Easier in that I’m not breaking down every moment of the day. Easier in that life is very slowly starting to make some sense. Easier because friends won’t leave me alone.

Someone commented on the blog the other day that I should “embrace” my grief. This person is a widow who has already walked the path I’m just now stepping on. (I’ve received many suggestions from widows and widowers; their insight is tremendously helpful.)

Honestly, embracing this feeling is the last thing I want. But I understand what she’s saying. Grief is a blessing, a gift from God. The level of my grief is in direct proportion to the level of love Deb and I shared.

One way to embrace grief is to not run away from it. And that means getting out to Christmas events, such as the holiday open house Tuesday night at Connors Gifts in Inverness.

I put it on my calendar so I wouldn’t forget. Deb loved that open house. She’d scurry through the store, excitedly catching up with Sandra "Sam" Himmel or Linda Van Allen, hiding from me gifts she was buying, such as the “Inverness FL small town done right” street sign that now sits prominently on the bookshelf in my den.

This was one of those “embrace the grief” visits. I’m in a fog right now, so Christmas shopping is on the shelf. I didn’t attend the Connors’ open house for stocking stuffers.

No. I needed to grieve where the memories were made. I knew I’d run into Sam, and we’d get a quiet moment together. Sam, geez, we’ve known one another for decades. Her late dad, Walt, a former County Clerk, was the first Citrus County politician I met nearly 40 years ago. The Connors family is all about tradition and hometown values.

See, I need that. Especially during the holidays. I gotta be grounded with people and places that are familiar and comfortable. Because look…being a new widower is scary. I’m not sure who or what to trust. I’m learning that some folks are quite uncomfortable around outward grief.

My friends, the Sam Himmels of this world, don’t care about any of that. They encourage and challenge. My friends are not allowing me to wallow in pity. They are respectful of the grieving process while gently keeping me balanced. My friends know that an emotionally healthy Mike Wright is beneficial to the community.

So, I’ll be out and about this Christmas season with a lump in my throat. And joy in my heart.

Have a very merry weekend, friends.

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