Lists

I have not been in Colby's room in weeks. This is not by design, but more because I was out of town the last two weeks of December. Today I look at the remains of Colby's life. The remains of his "stuff," as he would have said. There is so much left to sort through. This large pile of his things is about three feet deep and takes up most of the room. There is one narrow path the connects the two doors, which makes it easier to navigate. I don't even think about all the "stuff" that is still in the basement, or in boxes in the kitchen, or the more than 500 books that are on shelves in the dining area.

I can't think where to start so I grab a small box out of an open suitcase and find bits and parts of things. They are black. Mostly. Some silver. All shapes and sizes. Most are small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. Bits of musical gear. Probably. I don't have a clue what to do with them so I drop the box back into the suitcase and stare at the unorganized pile. There is a bit of paper in the suitcase so I fish that out and find our New Year's Eve list for 1994. Each year on New Year's Eve Colby and I always made a list of the top ten things we were grateful for that year.

This would have been the New Year that Colby was nine. We were living with friends. I had been ill that year with a condition I still have to watch closely. But that year, that first year I was sick, was hard. I closed my Music Row office and we had to leave our rented farm outside Nashville. I remember being afraid that Colby wouldn't be able to find too many things to be grateful for that year. But he did. Here they are as he wrote them:
1. Grandma!
2. Mom!
3. Bootsie! (our cat)
4. Food!
5. Pizza!
6. New home!
7. Toys!
8. A new year!
9. God!
10. Animals!

I remember now his enthusiasm for the move, how much he helped when I was having a really tough day. Colby was in counseling then, grieving for a treasured pet who had recently passed. He was also having trouble in school. His learning difference had yet to be diagnosed, but his difficulty in writing, knot tying, ordering, organizing was apparent even then. To compensate, he began acting out. This counselor, the first one he saw, was good. She helped a lot.

I think if Colby could find ten things to be grateful for that year, I should be able to find ten now. It takes me some time to compile the list, mostly because I am still so unfocused. Life for me is like thinking through syrup. I get there, but it takes me some time, time that is uninterrupted, quiet.
1. Friends
2. My home
3. My truck
4. My four-legged friends
5. Work/clients
6. The Internet
7. My cell phone
8. My counselors
9. My support group
10. Time

The list is in no particular order. That is too much to think about right now. But, my life would be infinitely worse, would be completely unmanageable, without any one of the above. I truly need each of those things and am so very glad that I have them. We all take everyday conveniences for granted. Instead, we should treat them as the blessings they are, for not everyone has them.

Resolutions

I always make New Year's resolutions. From the time I was small I used the opportunity the new year brought to try to better myself. More recently I made two resolutions around the first of the year: one for me and one for the betterment of the world. For example, the resolutions might be to walk more and to pick up more litter. Or they might be to eat less ice cream and do one nice thing a day for others. This year, however, I have no resolution.

This year I can't wrap my brain around a resolution because I can't think far enough ahead to sustain such a commitment. In my grief, I am still operating day-to-day, hour-to-hour, sometimes minute-to-minute. Right now, to me, next week seems an impossibility.

Colby also had resolutions. Together, we thought about them over the holidays, and made careful choices. For many years we wrote our resolutions down and put them in the family bible. It's too painful, today, for me to look at them, but I remember several of his resolutions were to call his grandma daily, to read more, to take better care of his clothes, and for years he was able to keep his resolutions. For what are resolutions other than ways to build good habits? Once you do something every day for long enough you don't think so much about it, you just do it. And he did. More recently, though, it was a struggle for him to simply survive and that's where I am now.

Some days are better than others, but each day of grief still brings inordinate challenges in personal strength, optimism. Daily tasks that were once very easy have become very difficult. Going to the store, the post office, interacting with people, just getting up in the morning is sometimes nearly impossible. But I do all of it, each day hoping it will be easier than the last. So instead of a resolution I have a wish, that I just get through the year, day-by-day, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute and that by next year I will be strong enough to have the resolve to make a positive addition or change to my life. I am not sure if this is a reasonable wish, if it is even possible, but it is a goal, something to strive toward and that in itself, is almost a resolution.