I’m doing. I’m out with people, I’m engaging in activities. I’m getting myself out there. Since Handsome Husband died on April 21, instead of crawling under the covers and staying there, which I so wanted to do, I got in the car and racked up almost 3000 miles, wending my way from southern California, to Arizona, (where I bought a new car and had it painted), to New Mexico, through Texas, Oklahoma, Missouri, Indiana (where I went to his family reunion, sorted through his things in our storage unit and donated what I could, reorganized said storage unit, organized and packed my car), and drove alone to New Jersey.
All of which is to say nothing other than I’m doing everything I can to keep the grief moving. Not all of it is done willingly, but it’s done.
At some point I’ll see a future for myself and, even more, I’ll care that I have a future.
This morning I went out to the track behind Georgia’s Place (that’s what we’ve always called the condo loaned to us by a very dear friend of ours), and I walked for exercise. It’s maybe the 3rd time I’ve gotten any kind of exercise since March 27 when I took Handsome Husband to the ER and the whole fucking nightmare of my life started. I went out and walked because I know I have to. I have to move this grief through me. And I tried to make the walking a meditation of love. That sounds good, right?
I’m going out and doing all sorts of things. Catching up with friends, going out to eat, taking pictures (where I’m even smiling). Doing. There are, at times, tears throughout all of this doing.
What’s inside of me while doing all these things. Pain. Missing him-ness. Pain. Panic. Grief. To-the-heart loneliness. A weightiness to my entire self. The cutting knowledge that he is gone from my life and I can’t stand it. A good description would be of a forest that has been burned to the ground. There is nothing left. No life anywhere. Ash. That’s my baseline and I go from there each day. Just going out and living. Interacting in so many ways. Making phone calls that need to be made. Loving all the hugs that I’ve been getting (keep them coming, please).
The feeling of alone-ness is acute, day and night, no matter what else is going on, good, bad or indifferent. We were side-by-side for these last 4 years, and together for so many more. So I have to remind myself that, if nothing else, the everyday of my life has changed massively and it will take time to adjust. Add in the love that we had for each other and the passion that was still very present between us and, well, yeah I guess it will take some time.
I know HH wanted me to find happiness again. I know he wouldn’t want me being sad and lonely. I get all of that. And to that I’d say to him, well, you’re not the one who was left behind to figure all this fucking stuff out. I’m doing what I can in every way. I’ll find my way again because I must. But I hate every fucking second of it, that I must do it. I want him back. I want my life with him back. Which won’t happen. So I’m doing what has to be done, but it isn’t being done in any near Zen way of calm and peace. I feel like a warrior in the movies, dipping fingers in war paint and smearing it on my face, going out to do battle with an enemy. Each day is a battle to stay in the moments as they happen. Each night is a mere continuation of the battle to let myself be right where I am and let the waves of pain and grief and loneliness wash over and through me.
Fucking grief. Fucking cancer. Fucking cancer that ate away and then took away the man I loved, that took away the us and left me alone.