For a year now, I have had the pleasure of spending Monday afternoon with my son-in-law. As we all navigate the transition of happily married, to newly separated, he and I would gather at one of our three favorite bars to share our grief, swap stories and basically hold each other up. One can argue who this was more important for. In the early days, I think it was both of us. That has changed.

Recent events and I guess time have created a shift. The pain of connection to what reminds him of what he had and has lost, has become too much. The slim possibility of reconciliation happening only for a moment here and there has supported his decision that to remove everyone reminding him of the past is what his grief requires.  Including me.

I believe and respect that each has their own path to travel with grief; that each of us needs to do what our grief commands to survive because ignoring it brings major complications. So, I must accept that there has been thought, and this decision is necessary. For him.

For me, I feel like I am being punished for something I did not do. I have enjoyed his company, his quirkiness and his big heart for over a decade. He was Zane’s buddy that slept over; the two of them eating pizza and playing video games like twelve-year old boys. After Zane was killed, he instantly became a member of our family and from the first day was the steadfast rock in the shock and grief that consumed us. There was never a moment when I didn’t send a text or pick up the phone to say I need you, that he didn’t come running. Unknowingly, he became the buffer to the pain of not being able to hold Zane.

This last year, I felt we had our own deepened relationship, albeit complicated by the past, it was unique to the drama of our family. We share private jokes, compare stories about Zane’s adventures and because of our history, I can vent to someone who understands. Our Mondays became a sacred and anticipated hour of laughter over chardonnay and martinis.

There was a part of me that knew as life carried us forward our relationship would change, but end? That was never a consideration. After all, he was and will always be one of Zane’s best friends. Yes, we would move on, finding new opportunities and I felt these might be the stories he would share that would cause me to feel nostalgic about what might have been. Not once did I think that murdering our Monday afternoons would be an option.

The decision to ‘create distance’ to soothe his grief has increased mine. It is one more change that I did not choose. It is one more loss that I now hold. And, if I am being honest, it is one more person that I love that has estranged me to support their own emotions. This is heavy. I am not sure where in my universal soul plan, I agreed to hold grief so many times, so many ways, and with such vigor. I only know that it is loud and continuous. Like a bad movie, playing over and over.

Alas, I have no control but to wait, wishing, for an invitation to resurrect Mondays. In the meantime, I have a heart filled with memories of the antics we shared. It is what it is.