Thoughts from two Days After
I had to change my text notification ring tone. When Jay & I were first getting to know each other, just before we met and just after, he was the only person I texted with, so any time that text notification chimed, I knew it was him. Even though I now text with many people, my heart still thinks that sound means a text from Jay. I almost burst into tears this morning at an incoming text, and promptly changed the sound.
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I rewatched the first episode of season 3 of Sherlock, and wished with all my heart that I could believe that Jay is still alive somewhere and will turn up when he's done with what he's doing.
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In an act of ultimate irony, Jay's AARP card showed up in the mail today. As I said on Facebook, this is a spectacular combination of jumping the gun and missing the boat.
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The numb of the shock is wearing off a little, and the weight of the grief to come is beginning to hit me.
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I'm having trouble getting to sleep. I am so afraid of thinking I'm hearing Jay calling for me in the night. But mornings are the hardest. When he was healthy, Jay would always get up ahead of me, and even though I'm now sleeping on his side of the bed, when I get up I feel like I'm going to see him on his exercise bike or working on his computer. There's that moment of hope in the haze of not quite being awake, like a dagger to the heart.
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I'm also struggling with feelings about having moved into this house. I'm not sorry I did, but I was looking forward to coming back from Maryland to move into a house I shared with Jay. As it turned out, I am just now starting to unpack again (I started in February, before we went back to Maryland), and now I'm just moving into the house I'm renting.
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I tried sitting in the chair that Jay spent his last days in, and wow, was that creepy. I only sat for a few moments before I felt overwhelmed. I don't know whether it's his energy still there or just my mind playing tricks on me, but it will surely be a while before I'm comfortable on that piece of furniture.
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Jay's cremation is later this week, and I get to go from there straight to therapy. That should be a treat for my therapist. I should probably bring a spare box of tissues along - I will undoubtedly need them.
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I doubt I'll continue doing these daily updates for long, but for now, it's good for me to stay in connection and to sum up what my day's been like.
*hugs* We've never met, but I'm hearing your pain. There's a hole in your life now and don't let *anyone* tell you when you should be "over it" or "stop feeling it". Do what you need, be who you need to be, and blog when you can, not because we want you to.
ReplyDeleteWrite this out as much and as long as benefits you. <3
ReplyDeleteThese are closely observed fragments of your experience. Thank you for sharing them. As a pastor, I've been around many deathbeds; often with deep connection to the dying one and to the family; but the breadth and honesty of Jay's chronicle, and now yours, is unmatched. Of course know your limits, of course experience your grief as privately as necessary, but just realize yours is a story worth telling. And hopefully will cue your friends as to what kind of support you need!
ReplyDeleteMe deepest sympathies.
ReplyDeleteVery, very rarely have I felt so profoundly saddened by the passing of someone I never actually met.
Nothing I try to write seems appropriate. Grieve as it seems fit seems trite. I've been there seems facile. I'll help if I can seems ridiculous.
ReplyDeleteI'm here, to listen, and to share. It's what I can do.
So it's what I shall do.
When my Mum died of cancer I was at home and she was at the hospital. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around to see who it was but no one was there. There were many other things that happened that showed me she was letting me know she was ok.
ReplyDeleteThough Jay did not believe in an after life watch for small things Lisa.
I hope you continue to talk with us. It may be hard right now to do that, but having so many people that loved Jay, loved you two being in love, and so wanted a happy ending for both of you. I (we) are here for you and will do everything to hold you up as your go along this difficult path of loss.
Jan
I am grateful to read your words about thoughts and feelings. Thank you for this.
ReplyDeleteMy brother Russy died from cancer a few years ago now, and I still feel him/think of him from time to time. Far less often than before, and usually triggered by something understandable like using his rolling pin (he was a chef), but still sometimes intense. The first few weeks after he died, my feelings were a strange roller coaster of pain and numbness and going on with life and guilt if I forgot for a minute (which does fade). Just accept whatever your soul needs to do. Trust yourself.
ReplyDeleteI agree with the others: I will keep reading, for as long as you post. If there was more I could do than read to help, I would. And bring the soft, lotiony Kleenex on Friday.
ReplyDeleteI've been thinking about you so much this week. I've been where you are. I know you're strong and considerate and resilient. The only advice I can give to someone bereaved is to not fight the feelings. They need to erupt or flow or bubble or burn and go through you, and it will happen many, many times. It's all normal. It's all healing even though it hurts so, so badly. If we let those wild, painful feelings flow without suppression, eventually they will have passed and the golden good can return to the center of our heart. I'm sorry this sounds so soppy. I don't know how else to say it.
ReplyDelete*hugs*
I am so very very sorry for your loss Lisa.
ReplyDeleteIt is soo hard. Right now, it is just so hard for you, it is and that is a fact, and it will remain so hard for quite sometime, maybe forever? I don't know if we ever stop mourning the loss of those we love. Just sleeping is so hard, my sleep pattern is still crazy 6 months after losing my sweet grandson to cancer. But I danced with him this weekend! He just appeared, laughing, in my mind's eye and we danced. They come and go bringing us joy sometimes that is perfect. You are doing a perfect job, Lisa, you were amazing and everything a person could have ever wanted in a supportive, loving partner, and now you are going to be alright. Miss him with all your heart, live with all your heart, love again with all your heart. His legacy is a life lived with full heart, and he picked you to spend probably the most important years of all with. You must be so so very special, I know you are. Couragio!
ReplyDeleteWe're thinking of you, Lisa. Many people are. I don't know if that helps at all. Grieve as you need to, and write as you need or want to. Love to you and yours.
ReplyDeleteLisa, when you feel up to doing something together please let me know. Maybe the ocean? Or a waterfall hike, or going to some other special place? I know of a number, and am certain you do also. Maybe some special places can give you a few moments of serenity at a time when finding any seems especially hopeless. I don't want to intrude, as I know you need time especially right now -- and that includes time alone, as well as spending it with others you are very close to. Please feel free to contact me when *you* wish. There is no hurry. I am here, and ready when you are. I just wanted to reassure you of that.
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry for your loss. I never met Jay, but his blog touched my life, as it touched so many. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI'm very sorry for your loss. I didn't know Jay all that well, but about a week after he died, I saw a man who looked a lot like him at an arts festival, but was taller and I nearly started to cry. The next day, an even older friend of mine died...of cancer...and she wasn't much older than Jay.
ReplyDelete