Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad
I had three things to do today.
I finished two.
And like the song says… two out of three ain’t bad.
No one tells you that grief shows up in the smallest tasks.
Not the big, dramatic moments.
The everyday ones.
Like taxes.
Like lightbulbs.
I woke up this morning with three goals.
Do my taxes.
Change the lightbulbs in the living room.
Change the lightbulbs outside the front door.
The taxes got done.
That alone feels strange to say.
Taxes were always Gary’s thing. He did them every year. He would read every line, question every word, and talk out loud about how ridiculous some of it was. Not angry. Just this steady stream of commentary that I got to listen to every spring. My job was to sit there and be the audience.
Now my job is to get his things done myself.
I just finished my fifth tax return without him.
I don’t have anything profound to say about that.
It just… blows.
After that, I moved on to the lightbulbs.
I pulled his ladder out of the garage and carried it into the house. I can do that part. I am stronger than I used to be.
But my ceilings are high.
I climbed up and stood there, looking at that last step. The one I would need to take to actually reach the light.
And I didn’t do it.
I know my job is to keep myself safe. I take that seriously. I live here alone now. There is no one else in the house if something goes wrong.
I can do hard things. I have done hard things.
But I didn’t want to take that last step.
So I didn’t.
I climbed down.
I cried.
I let myself feel like a failure.
I felt his absence hard.
I lived with that feeling for a while.
Then I turned on Netflix and let myself go numb for a while.
But thankfully, I heard the birds just outside my window at the bird feeder.
It is one of those rare warm days in March here in Northwest Indiana. The kind you don’t waste. So I went outside and sat on the front porch. I breathed in the fresh air and allowed the sound of nature to soothe me.
That helped.
Then I built a fire in the backyard. I sat there, watching the flames, feeling the quiet settle in just a little.
And while I was sitting there, I decided to try one more thing.
The front door light.
The ladder was already out. I found a bulb, moved the ladder outside, and I did it.
That one is done.
The living room light is still out.
And two out of three ain’t bad.
You can almost hear Meat Loaf singing it.
And honestly, that feels about right.
I think for a long time in grief, I try to make sense of everything.
I try to understand how this is my life now.
How I am here, living in this house, doing these things, without Gary here with me.
I try to understand how everything I do is still somehow connected to him.
And it never really makes sense.
It always comes back to the same place.
I have to learn to make peace with what is.
There are some things I can do.
And there are some things I don’t have to do.
Someone else can change the living room lightbulb.
And I am perfectly fine with that.
Maybe that is part of this life now.
Not doing everything.
Not proving anything.
Not forcing the last step.
Just doing what I can.
And letting that be enough for today.
If something feels hard for you right now, you don’t have to do it alone.
If you want to talk, I’m here. You can sign up for a free call anytime.