I went from Germany to Switzerland. For some reason I feel the grief creeping in. I look around me and I wish I could be sharing this experience with George. Today I went to a monastery and it was stunning. The vaulted ceilings with angels carved within the frame work, the gold trimmings and biblical scenes painted from one end to another. I couldn’t believe that hundreds of years ago it was built. Absolutely jaw dropping. As I was there I couldn’t help but think about the priest who read George his last rites in the living room of our Jersey City apartment. I make no bones about it; since he died I do not have a belief system. My parents never pushed religion onto me and I always found myself curious if perhaps maybe there’s something there. But having to watch George in agony in those final days before he slipped into a coma, I do not believe. Discussions about religion make me uncomfortable particularly because I think too many horrible things happen to good people. I’m going to cut the cord here because it’s isn’t what my blog is about. I don’t want it to stir up anything. My personal experience has molded my character just as it has for anyone else. I recently read an author who said, “grief doesn’t change a person, it reveals them.” I agree with this completely. I haven’t been changed by George’s death. I still am who I am, but I did know I would be coming out if this entire experience a little older and different. I’m not as happy as I used to be, but I’m more understanding and empathize. George would still love who I am. I don’t know. Maybe I can convey this at a better time.
It’s a little after 1a here in Zurich. I should be asleep, dreaming of my past life, but with grief my sleep patterns begin to twist and turn. I should have known this was coming. Sleepy during the day, wide awake at night. Grief, please don’t come. Leave me alone until I’m back stateside.