The Corruption of Fear

I went to my group Monday night. I had skipped the previous session, and it wasn't until Monday afternoon that I realized how badly I needed to go to group, how badly I was feeling.

When it was my turn to speak, I said that I was afraid. Afraid of what?, they asked. Afraid to move forward in my life without Wendy.

This fear corrupts me. I isolate myself, hide among strangers, feel guilty and embarrassed for being alive like an obsolete machine or a party guest who is the last to leave.

When I am in my group, behind closed doors with others who fate cut off at the pass, I find courage. With that courage, I feel that I have a part in the future. I am able to be with other people. I am able to relax.

And I'm better able, I think, to see that trap I fall into. It's like that first Christmas. I was doing okay until Christmas morning. I didn't want anyone to open their presents. By my twisted thinking just weeks after her death, we could stop time by leaving them unopened under the tree.

I routinely dig my heels in and try to keep the future from putting more distance between me and her. Every moment that ticks by fossilizes her in my memory. The real Wendy gets replaced by the legend.