As we drove from Oklahoma to Illinois today, I allowed my mind to wander. Yes, it was a vain attempt to ignore the godfuckingawful pain that was searing my…well, my entire self. There is no language for this grief over the death of Handsome Husband. My hand on the steering wheel was steady. My thoughts? Not so much. In a nutshell (hmm, I wrote that word before realizing that it actually carries some literal meaning these days):
I need to contact the DAV to find out if they can provide an Honor Guard for Handsome Husband’s memorial service in October.
I need to call Handsome Husband’s old boss from P & S to ask him if there is any way possible (there must be!) to arrange a flyover of a C-130 during the service. Handsome Husband flew as a flight engineer on a 141 during his time in service and was present as the last one was placed as a memorial at MAFB. The 141 was replaced with the 130’s and I’d love to honor my husband with the flyover. Hopefully, Kenny can help. Or at least lead me in the right direction.
Speaking of memorials, I need to contact the base about placing a brick for Handsome Husband at the 141 memorial. We’d visit it each time we were at MAFB and I know he’d be thrilled to have a brick there for him.
Must call his last boss, the one I called (and continue to call), Satan. Thank him for being such a spineless asshole and allowing the two bitches in his office, under his command, to be unprofessional and lacking in standards and any sense of ethics. Ask him to please pass along to them my thanks for making Handsome Husband’s professional life so fucking miserable that I was concerned on a daily basis that he would suffer a heart attack. Thank him profusely for being so unethical and so heartless and so careless of morale that it caused Handsome Husband to email me from work one day and say that he could retire in 3 weeks and what did I think and I said “go for it” and he did. Because of you, Satan, we had 4 incredible years on the road together, making beautiful memories and he died on the road instead of being stuck at a desk or at the hospital, enduring cancer treatments that would have gone nowhere. P.S. I still hope you burn in hell. Along with those two bitches. (Yes, that’s harsh. No, I don’t care that it’s harsh).
Oh, man. Handsome Husband would not have liked me to blog about that. Good thing he isn’t around…
Here we are in Illinois. Tomorrow Indiana. His mom. His family reunion. The storage unit. I’m seeing nothing but pain here. And not the pain that I’d feel when we went to Indiana together and I didn’t want to go because I’d rather be out on the road. This is pain because how the fuck and why the fuck am I going to Indiana without him? How the fuck is it that I’m in Illinois, staring out at these cornfields and he isn’t next to me?
How the fuck am I going to do this?