I haven't been going to group lately, a fact that Mom has been happy to point out to me. I, of course, maintained firmly that I've just been busy, things to do, nothing big, it hasn't been that long... you know, the usual Cleopatra, queen of denial. The fact that given the choice I went swimming rather than face the group should have been a clue for me. But no, I refused to look, until I heard that there were rumors that I had gone off my diet and was too embarrassed to show my face made me exam why I was avoiding the group (no, it's not the diet thing!)
I realized I had not gone back to group since Larry died, almost a month ago. It's not that Larry was a good friend of mine - he was a good man, a loving husband, a solid, steady presence, but not a close friend. So it wasn't mourning him that was keeping me away - it was my fear of change. I can't stand it when people around me change, especially those who feel like father figures. Larry felt very much like a patriarch to me - the first day we met, I mentioned that I was reading Zealot by Reza Aslan (it's a book examining the life of Jesus), and the next week, he brought me a copy of the New Testament, because he was worried about my soul. I felt like going to group and sitting there without him across from me would cement the fact that he's gone. More than that, it would send home the fact that this is the nature of the group - this isn't a book club. These are all people (including me) with a potential death sentence, and Larry is just the first. I know, life itself comes with a death sentence, but for us, it's been firmed down a little.
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