Chapter 3
Post-Loss: December 10, 2010
Reaction to the separation, pain and feelings of loss
I'm nervously holding the soft grey leather-covered steering wheel of my 2007 Hyundai as I drive reluctantly through the city of Cornwall. The drive along Pitt Street in a dull one on this somber day. The dark, cloud-covered sky, and the wet snow falling lazily on the pavement, colours the day with more sadness and further enhances my sense of loss.
I see it further ahead, the little building on the right side of the street tucked up against the parking lot of a small shopping mall. My heart makes a double beat as the knife in my gut painfully slices another inch deeper; I want to turn around and chicken out. Maybe tomorrow will be easier, maybe next week or next month. Ah, God, this is so tough, I cowardly think as I make a sharp right turn into the driveway, park the car in front of the main entrance, and as I enter, stare defiantly at the institution's logo: Wilson Funeral Home.
A very dignified tall grey-haired gentleman dressed elegantly in the customary white shirt and black suit politely welcomes me inside and I state my business. "I'm here to pick up my late wife's ashes," I say in a shy and contained voice. "Her name is...ah...was Louise Milot." Thinking and talking of Louise in the past tense is somewhat of a challenge for me, and every time I do so, my heart skips a beat. Completing the paperwork and collecting the urn takes no more than 10 or 15 minutes and I rush out of there presto. As I carry my precious cargo wrapped up in the usual mauve velvet bag, I can't help but notice how heavy it is. With mixed emotions, not sure if I should hold it close to my heart or be afraid of it, I lay the urn delicately on the empty passenger seat, another painful reminder of Louise's absence.
Read more on Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/zcg46jx
Post-Loss: December 10, 2010
Reaction to the separation, pain and feelings of loss
I'm nervously holding the soft grey leather-covered steering wheel of my 2007 Hyundai as I drive reluctantly through the city of Cornwall. The drive along Pitt Street in a dull one on this somber day. The dark, cloud-covered sky, and the wet snow falling lazily on the pavement, colours the day with more sadness and further enhances my sense of loss.
I see it further ahead, the little building on the right side of the street tucked up against the parking lot of a small shopping mall. My heart makes a double beat as the knife in my gut painfully slices another inch deeper; I want to turn around and chicken out. Maybe tomorrow will be easier, maybe next week or next month. Ah, God, this is so tough, I cowardly think as I make a sharp right turn into the driveway, park the car in front of the main entrance, and as I enter, stare defiantly at the institution's logo: Wilson Funeral Home.
A very dignified tall grey-haired gentleman dressed elegantly in the customary white shirt and black suit politely welcomes me inside and I state my business. "I'm here to pick up my late wife's ashes," I say in a shy and contained voice. "Her name is...ah...was Louise Milot." Thinking and talking of Louise in the past tense is somewhat of a challenge for me, and every time I do so, my heart skips a beat. Completing the paperwork and collecting the urn takes no more than 10 or 15 minutes and I rush out of there presto. As I carry my precious cargo wrapped up in the usual mauve velvet bag, I can't help but notice how heavy it is. With mixed emotions, not sure if I should hold it close to my heart or be afraid of it, I lay the urn delicately on the empty passenger seat, another painful reminder of Louise's absence.
Read more on Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/zcg46jx
Dr. Pierre Milot, Ph.D., Ph.D. (tc)
Therapeutic Counsellor - Author
Online - Phone - One-on-one consultations
Info or free evaluation: 613.703.9237
Email: drpierremilot@mail.com
http://www.drpierremilotphdtherapeuticounselling.com
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