It's no surprise that this month has left much to be desired. A common idea/comment about grief is "I had no idea that when your loved one dies, you will replay the last 24 hours over and over in your head." Try a whole month.
This week, my office has been the exact same temperature as the funeral home was. Don't ask me how I know this, because I can't explain it. I don't know what the temperature is in here, but it feels like death. Sparks a bunch of flashbacks: sitting at the funeral director's desk making decisions through blurry eyes. Standing in the lobby at God knows what time of the night waiting to be escorted in for the viewing. Sitting in the front row at the funeral in a complete daze thinking "somethin's not right. I don't get it." Looking at all of the flowers, statues, cards, etc. sent by family and people I barely knew, and I thought, "what for? These don't make me happy, and I don't care if the whole county is thinking about me and keeping me in their oh-so-blessed thoughts and prayers while gossiping, spreading rumors, and examining my life under a microscope with the same breath."
Another odd phenomenon: When I look out the window of my house, I can't see the road because of the corn. I find myself more intently watching my lane with the smallest ounce of hope that his truck will suddenly turn in and burn down the lane, and Cheyenne will jump on the back of the couch and get really excited when she hears it. Then she'll wait with her nose pressed at the garage door waiting for him to turn the nob so she can jump up and love on him. It's part flashback, and part wishful thinking.
I am really freakin' lonely. I'm good at being a wife. I'm afraid that if I ever decide to date again, I won't know how to treat him like a boyfriend instead of a husband. I'm afraid that I am starting all over again. I'm afraid of my baggage. I'm afraid of screwing up. I'm afraid of being hurt. All of these things had been successfully eliminated when I married Steven. Now, it's all up in the air.
Tattoo: coming August 9th. Its the only thing that I could find to settle my heart, be alone but not isolate, and signify my strength, stability, and independence throughout this shit storm of a year. IDGAF.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Saturday, July 5, 2014
#2
Two in one day? I must be emotional.
The best way to describe tonight's experience is this: I have a hole in my heart and soul. This hole will always be there, I will always be able to feel it, but as more time passes, the hole becomes more natural. Like I was born with it. Like a piercing, the hole will stay there but the wound heals over. Tonight's fireworks went straight through the hole and all the way through me. It took my breath away, and I didn't know if it was a good thing or bad thing. The part that confuses me most is that I can't decide if I never ever want to go back again or if I will never miss a single year until I die. Part of me looks at the closure portion of this specific event, and part of me never wants to let go of the tradition. I'm not so sure I can ever watch fireworks and be happy at the same time for the rest of my life. At least, that's how I feel right now.
The best way to describe tonight's experience is this: I have a hole in my heart and soul. This hole will always be there, I will always be able to feel it, but as more time passes, the hole becomes more natural. Like I was born with it. Like a piercing, the hole will stay there but the wound heals over. Tonight's fireworks went straight through the hole and all the way through me. It took my breath away, and I didn't know if it was a good thing or bad thing. The part that confuses me most is that I can't decide if I never ever want to go back again or if I will never miss a single year until I die. Part of me looks at the closure portion of this specific event, and part of me never wants to let go of the tradition. I'm not so sure I can ever watch fireworks and be happy at the same time for the rest of my life. At least, that's how I feel right now.
Every night she walks to beaches of Cheyenne.
I realized this week that I think I named my dog after Garth Brooks song Beaches of Cheyenne. It wasn't on purpose, so I think this is in the category of foreshadowing shit that happened in the last 5 years. Here:
First date was the lake fireworks. I can still feel that nervousness in my stomach when I think about picking out my outfit and waiting for him to pick me up. From there I feel every feeling I ever had in the last 6 years all at one time in just a few seconds. That's the only way I know how to explain it. I've done a lot of thinking about the fireworks tonight. It's pretty clear why I'm anxious and upset about it, but I kept feeling like it was more than that. This feels different than Thanksgiving or Christmas or birthdays. Not worse or better, but completely different. There's a different nervousness and anticipation. Today, I pegged it.
Our first date was the lake fireworks. Tonight...this is our last date.
The feeling relates to the sense of closing a book or turning a new chapter, except I'm doing it kicking and screaming. It feels like 'the end' all over again. This explains why the predominant flashback has been me standing in front of his casket to see him one last time before the lid was closed.
In many ways, I'd rather live in today for the rest of my life. I don't want to have another 'last'. I'm digging my heels in to today, and I know I'm about to be yanked forward against my will. I don't have any idea how I want to handle the first anniversary. Most of me wants to disappear to a random hotel in a random nearby city, turn off my phone, and just isolate the entire day eating what ever I want and alternate between watching 8 Seconds, Coalminer's Daughter, and Pure Country. And I want to cry the whole way through all day. And I'll take a nap, too.
First date was the lake fireworks. I can still feel that nervousness in my stomach when I think about picking out my outfit and waiting for him to pick me up. From there I feel every feeling I ever had in the last 6 years all at one time in just a few seconds. That's the only way I know how to explain it. I've done a lot of thinking about the fireworks tonight. It's pretty clear why I'm anxious and upset about it, but I kept feeling like it was more than that. This feels different than Thanksgiving or Christmas or birthdays. Not worse or better, but completely different. There's a different nervousness and anticipation. Today, I pegged it.
Our first date was the lake fireworks. Tonight...this is our last date.
The feeling relates to the sense of closing a book or turning a new chapter, except I'm doing it kicking and screaming. It feels like 'the end' all over again. This explains why the predominant flashback has been me standing in front of his casket to see him one last time before the lid was closed.
In many ways, I'd rather live in today for the rest of my life. I don't want to have another 'last'. I'm digging my heels in to today, and I know I'm about to be yanked forward against my will. I don't have any idea how I want to handle the first anniversary. Most of me wants to disappear to a random hotel in a random nearby city, turn off my phone, and just isolate the entire day eating what ever I want and alternate between watching 8 Seconds, Coalminer's Daughter, and Pure Country. And I want to cry the whole way through all day. And I'll take a nap, too.
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