Celebrate & Grieve

I went to Atlanta this weekend. Originally, I was supposed to go down Saturday night for a party for a friend of mine. Staci and her new husband were celebrating their recent marriage. After having a private ceremony a few months ago, they were just now having a get-together for their close friends.

I was concerned about being alone in a social environment, so I e-mailed her earlier in the week to tell her that I just wasn’t ready. She said she understood but still wanted to meet to have lunch if possible. Considering how busy the day was going to be for her, I was thrilled that she would take the time to come see me. It had been three years since I last saw her. Staci lost her best friend to murder 12 years ago and said she really wanted to be there for me. She thought she could help.

As I drove down I-75 and came upon Cumberland Blvd, the memories of mine and Shani’s first apartment surfaced. I remembered how we used to take the kids hiking down by the Chattahoochee River. Our apartment was off to the left, and the Crunch Fitness I helped open was off to the right.

I remembered Shani bringing me lunch at the gym one day 10 years ago. As she drove off, a co-worker, who was also a good friend of mine, joked, “Mike if she ever left you, you would be devastated!” At the time, it didn’t seem possible.

“You were right, Doug,” I thought as I drove by.

I continued on past Shani’s old office a couple of exits up, and more memories flooded my brain. I took the West Paces Ferry exit and hung a left toward Buckhead. Of course, I’d made this ride a million times too. Shani and I lived in Buckhead for a year and ate at probably every restaurant in the area. It almost felt like I was going to meet her for lunch somewhere that afternoon.

“Is there no part of Atlanta that won’t remind me of Shani?” I thought. “Did we live and work everywhere in this city?”

When I met Staci and a couple of her friends at Whole Foods for lunch, I listened as she shared some things about her relationship and some of the inner workings concerning her marriage. She spoke of how she and her husband had to get used to living with each other and the different conflicts that they’ve had in adjusting, as well as the normal day to day stuff you go through as a newly married couple.

I’ve always felt comfortable speaking from the heart around Staci. You always know what she’s thinking, so it’s easy to do so around her. Without even thinking about it, I started sharing the ways that I could identify with her from my experience with Shani. I think sometimes people don’t know what to say when I start talking about her, but Staci was attentive, listening, and laughing as we saw the similarities in our relationships.

I talked about how, when Shani and I would argue, I would never give up even if I knew I was wrong. At some point in our arguments, it would shift into being about winning or losing, and that’s all. The topic being discussed ceased to matter. I told her how Shani was great at calling me out for this. Staci and I laughed and laughed. I told her about how, even now, I can often hear Shani in my head telling me to do this or do that and how I’ll have a virtual argument with her, even though she’s no longer here. Staci thought this was hilarious. It was good to see someone get a kick out of it instead of looking at me like I was crazy. It was really a great visit, and I’m very glad to see Staci doing well. She gives me hope.

After lunch, I took off and headed to Grant Park to stay with my friends, Serap and Jason. They were mine and Shani’s neighbors in the loft we lived in for our last 4 years together. They lived in the same complex and in the unit directly below us. We had a wonderful, quiet evening of dinner and conversation Saturday night. Prior to Shani’s death, I rarely spent any time with them by myself, and there is an obvious presence missing when we’re together. The dynamic is certainly new. Now, it’s just the three of us…oh, and little Orman, their 6-month-old son. On a lot of levels, I think it’s healing for each of us to spend time together now, all sharing the loss of Shani…the woman, the friend, the neighbor, and the wife.

I told Jason that I don’t think you ever really hit your emotional bottom until you can once again feel your feet grounded again. I talked about how I was really just now seeing the day-to-day stuff about Shani and our life together that I miss so much, and how finally, I felt like I was done falling. Sure, I am still grieving, but I’m not so overwhelmed by the tragedy anymore, as much as I am now just missing her. I told him that it feels good to go inside myself, to think about how much fun she and I had together, then crying because I know that part of my life is over. It’s real. All of the other stuff that I’ve been mostly consumed by for the greater part of a year, the tragic way in which she died and such, is not important in the grand scheme of things. What my mind is finally letting me realize is that the important thing is that she’s gone.

At breakfast yesterday morning, the topic of Shani came back up as we were discussing the yard sale they had just three days prior to her death.

Picture Taken at Yard Sale 5/29/09

Shani had spent the day with them, getting rid of a few of our things, trying to downsize prior to our move to Florida. I had recently finished converting all of my music into my iTunes and told her to go ahead and sell a number of my CDs. Serap joked about how they drank mimosas and sangria that day and how when someone would buy a CD, Shani would ask them, “Have you heard of this,” handing them another CD for a similar artist.

They said that Shani would just give the people the other CDs and that she then spent the money she made that day having her cards read by a psychic that happened to be partaking in the sale as well.

That is SO Shani, if you knew her. All of it.

“You know, THAT’S what I miss. That’s what I’m feeling right now.” I said. “And it feels good to be sad. It feels good to know that all that I’m feeling right now is how much I miss her.”

We all started to tear up and Jason talked about how much of a joy it had been to run into Shani outside when they were walking the dogs and how she never had drama to share. He talked about how she never seemed to be in a hurry (even when she should have been at times!-that’s coming from me), and how a 5-minute encounter could turn into an hour long conversation with her.

“It was just easy to like her,” he said.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, tears slipping out, all of us knowing that if we wanted to, we could have let it fly in a total group boo-hoo session. But we all took deep breaths and got going again. We had a moment, but I think there was a collective sense of gratitude we shared for our times with her.

After this, I gathered my things and set off for an afternoon of conversation and music with another friend in the area. We sat on her couch and talked about where we were in our lives and what our goals were moving forward. We talked about spirituality as we listened to some 70’s and early 80’s Easy Listening tunes, and how they were a guilty pleasure for both of us. I took in the moment and smiled, thinking of how great it was to be listening to old cheesy music with someone now and really enjoying myself. Old music can still be part of a new soundtrack.

On the way home yesterday evening, I felt so good about my weekend. I have a lot of wonderful people in my life; some that knew us, and some that only now know me. And while the dynamic of many of these relationships has changed without Shani, life does go on, and it’s ok to miss what we miss. It’s really good to share that.

Shani was a powerful “Life force.” (thanks Laura) She brought so many amazing qualities to the table; they’re only now starting to reveal themselves separately instead of a big pile of loss. And as they pop up one-by-one, I’m learning to celebrate and grieve at the same time. It feels good to feel that. It feels good to actually feel my feelings. I’m there. I’m at that place where the only thing that matters is trying to figure out how to move forward in my life, despite having to do it without my best friend. And you know what? I think I’ve figured that out—celebrate the woman she was, while grieving the woman that was lost.