Call me crazy, but I'm starting to feel like maybe I'm a little bit crazy.
Is that crazy?
Is it Nuts-ville Crazytown that I feel like I am more in love with my husband now, than ever before? That I would rather have one-way conversations with his spirit or soul, than put any real efforts into possibly finding a new partner who I could actually speak to, human to human? Is it insane that looking at his picture on my nightstand before going to sleep, and saying out loud, in a faint whisper: "Goodnight BooBear - I love you" seems to make more sense to me than saying nothing at all? Seriously - level with me, people - is it time for me to just go and get the straightjacket and try it on for size? Or is there a place that I can go to exist, where there isn't all this pressure to "move on" or "get myself out there again", and where having a continued relationship with my dead husband isn't universally frowned upon?
So, it's the day after Thanksgiving, and I write here on this blog each and every Friday. Except that I don't. In actuality, in order for the blog to go live on Friday, midnight Pacific time, that means my writing deadline is 3 am on the East Coast, the night before Friday morning. Last night. Now you know all the ins- and -outs of the widowed publishing blog world. Riveting, isn't it?
Believe it or not, there is a reason I'm telling you all of this, and it's not to bore you into a deep, deep sleep. I'm telling you this fascinating tale, because it's now 9:30am east coast time on Friday morning, and here I sit, post-Thanksgiving day, furiously typing this piece and hoping that Soaring Spirits and Michele don't finally realize how unorganized and forgetful I really am, and kick me out of this exclusive widowed writing club that I came into kicking and screaming in the first place. Bad Widow!
My husband's sudden and unexpected death happened on a Wednesday.
July 13, 2011.
We had gone to sleep the night before, and I still don't recall saying goodnight.
Or saying anything.
We simply fell asleep, in the exhaustion of having two jobs and being busy and life.
A few hours later, he had left for his volenteer job at the local Petsmart,
helping out with cat adoptions, and then stocking pet food.
But he never got around to any of that.
His manager found him collapsed on the cold, hard floor instead,
about 90 minutes after arriving to work.
(Just a side note; I don't actually know for a fact that the floor was cold, but for some reason, whenever I describe it to anyone or write about it, I always describe it as a cold floor. I just picture it and see it as being cold. These are the kinds of things, big and small, that trauma puts into our heads.)
Since it has been a crazy, busy week for me, and since I have been missing my husband in a way that is so intense lately I almost cannot handle it, I thought I would go back through my personal blog and find one of the few "visit" type dreams I have had about Don since he died, and share it with you here. I haven't had a dream like this one in awhile now, and so whenever I start missing him like mad, like right now, I go back and read this. I had this dream maybe 2 months after he died, in the fall of 2011. Here it is:Read more
I did not know that it was possible to miss someone this much.
I mean - I actually, really, honestly, did not know.
I had no idea that I would go see a production of the hilarious play Noises Off tonight, put on by the Theatre Department at the University I teach at; and laugh so hard that my ribs hurt, and then get in my car just a few minutes later, and suddenly be sobbing.
JERRY: You rented 'Home Alone?'
GEORGE: Yeah. Do you mind if I watch it here?
JERRY: What for?
GEORGE: Because if I watch it at my apartment, I feel like Im not DOING anything. If I watch it here, Im out of the house. Im DOING something.
Today is a nothing day. Nothing important.
Well, today is Halloween.
By the time you read this, yesterday would have been Halloween.
But, as I am writing this late Thursday night,
today is Halloween.
But my husband and I didn't have kids yet, and we never really "did anything" on Halloween.
So, like I said, today is a nothing day.
There is nothing that will make you feel quite as tiny and insignificant in the universe as when you are completely alone in a room, choking.
Nothing drives home the very smallness and randomness of your purpose here on Earth, than almost being taken out by some chicken noodle soup.
Yup. You heard me. You read that correctly. On Monday, October 21st, this week, I almost died. For real. I was very, very close to choking so badly, that I could no longer speak, breathe, or function. Very, very close.
My thoughts are all over the place tonight. Scattered in the air, like confetti. Sometimes I come in here, to this blog site, and I have absolutely no idea what I want to say. I want to say everything - and nothing. Tonight is one of those nights. So here are a few random thoughts that are on my mind right this minute. If I'm lucky, they will end up connecting to one another in some sort of mixed up, grief-hazed way.
It has become difficult for me to feel grounded. Ever. I think sudden death will do that to a person. Always feeling like something is about to happen. Something awful. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop ...
Finally found a doctor's office in NYC that takes new patients who don't have insurance. Because when you lose your husband with absolutely no warning, and you were on HIS health insurance - guess what? You lose your insurance. There goes that shoe dropping...
What If I Forget ....
His smell. His funny lips and the way they turned up at the corner. His skin.
His dry skin that always needed chapstick, and his back that always needed to be scratched.
What If I forget ...
Those piercing blue eyes that became someone else's eyes when he donated them to the eye bank.
The way they looked at me. Through me. Into me. The way they saw my soul.
What If I forget the way he held his guitar pick, or how he looked so focused and intense when playing a new chord - a new song. What if I forget how he would make me sit on the couch next to him and listen to the music he had just created, or how he used my knees and legs as imaginary drums - playing each beat on them with his fingers and thumbs. The way my voice sounded when I sang with his melody. The way we harmonized in song and in life. The way that our marriage was like a duet. What if I forget ....