A week of impressions
There are so many conversations that are left unfinished, so many new things I want to share with Jay. I want him to say "I told you so" to my finally getting the squeaky belt fixed in my car, which turned out to have been installed incorrectly from the time the car was built. He would have laughed out loud about that. I want to take him to the new pizza place at Clackamas Mall. I tell him all the things, and take him along wherever I go, but it'll never be the same.
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I have a little shrine to him on the dresser. Three pictures of him, along with the cloisonne jar with some of his ashes. I greet him every morning, and say good night every evening. I would have done this anyway, but it was also recommended by my therapist as a good focus for my loss.
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I keep reaching for my phone to text him as funny things happen or as I see odd things, like the two Brewcycles that passed me as I was headed to therapy this week. If I didn't think his father (who has Jay's phone now) would think I was crazy, I would go ahead and text.
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I'm going to the coast this weekend, to clear my head and to be out of the house for a longer stretch of time than I've been doing. I only hope it will *not* rain sideways while I'm there.
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My google calendar used to be full of red blocks that were the things on Jay's calendar. I miss those red blocks. I even miss the green blocks that were the items on his medical calendar.
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I miss the sense of purpose I felt while taking care of Jay. It's the most purpose I've ever felt in my life.
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It sometimes feels like I've been taken completely apart and put back together wrong. I keep looking for the missing pieces of myself, but even if I find them, their shape is subtly wrong and they no longer fit me, or I them.
I texted Jim a LOT. Go with it until you can let go. *hugs*
ReplyDeleteThank you for writing to us here, it is comforting somehow. Kinda relieves the online hole left by Jay. Similar honesty and beautiful rhythm to your words, similarly written from the heart; to and for the heart. Small comfort, I know, but we ARE all in this together, and as your words help all of us, I hope in turn you will be comforted.
ReplyDeleteAfter almost 8 years, I still talk to my Bob, and have his picture on my dresser. Sometimes I'm arguing with him, sometimes telling him how much I miss him, sometimes what his funny cat O'Keefe just did...I'm told this is all completely normal, and I'm fine with it. When you get half your being ripped away, the scar will heal but never really go away. The painful bouts lessen in frequency over the years, and more slowly the pain itself lessens (partially), but I expect I'll be talking to Bob on my own deathbed. As long as we're healing, it's all OK. *hugs*
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