The thoughts that scatter through my brain like tracer bullets when I need desperately to sleep. Not so that I can be rested because that’s kind of not happening, but so I can be unconscious and not as aware of the emotional pain. Ahh..well….
I’m having a moment of happiness, finally. Happy that Christmas is finally done and gone for the year. Handsome Husband and I haven’t even celebrated Christmas for years unless we happened to be with family at any particular time. Every day together was a gift to us and once the kids left home it held no significance to us. Neither of us are (were) Christian and we didn’t like the hassle and memory-making meant more to us than tangible gifts. The day itself wasn’t loaded because every day for me is emotionally loaded with missing him from my life. And yet…all the hoopla and bells and whistles brought it even more into focus for me. Now that it’s over I can return to the dull pain of knowing he’s gone.
Recently someone castigated me, upon reading my Thanksgiving post referencing my lack of gratitude and not wanting to read any more listings of how and why people were thankful during that time (which is wonderful and thank god people are thankful and don’t take things for granted but I was over it), that I need to learn to have gratitude. That I should be thanking god on bended knee that I had this lovely man in my life to love me for the years that he did, that he and I had the opportunity to adventure together as we did, and many people don’t have any of that, ever, and maybe I should be volunteering with cancer patients. Huh. So, where is it written that because, yes, I was graced with him and our adventures, I don’t have the right to grieve deeply? With all due respect to anyone who has never experienced such love as I had (have) with Handsome Husband, and no, I’m not lording it over anyone because believe me, I had a very, very bad first marriage with a man who abused me and I knew what not having love felt like and then found real love with a handsome man who was my true knight. I know what love felt like, I felt him touch me and hug me and kiss me and hold my hand and support me and smile at me and wink at me and have that life and now, not have that life. I know I was blessed to have him and I’m so fucking grateful to have had him in my life that I want to throw up at not having him any longer. So, how about we just let people have their grief and not make a judgement on it? How about that? And volunteer with cancer patients? I wouldn’t think of it right now, out of deference to them, and my knowledge of the grieving process. You want to see a meltdown on my part? Put me in a room with cancer patients and their families and see a puddle on the floor where I used to stand. Cancer survivors elicit the same reaction from me, simply because I can’t contain my disbelief that they’re still alive and, too, because the joy I feel at their survivorship is so intense, both for them and those who love them.
My PinkMagic car/T@b trailer. Super cute. This new life on the road. Looks adventurous, doesn’t it? I’m currently in Key West. It’s warm and summer-like. I’m meeting new people all the time, hearing their stories as they hear mine. I interact with them. I laugh. I put makeup on in the morning. My clothes are decent. I look so fucking normal on the outside. Bells and whistles. You know what’s happening inside of me while I’m talking to you? While I’m looking normal? This. Except more intense. 24/7.While I’m walking and talking and looking at you, and driving and so-called adventuring, all I’m seeing is my husband not here. All I’m thinking is, what the hell happened to him? To my life? To us? How is it that I’m here and he isn’t?
All of this life I’d give up in a New York minute. I have no idea what that means in actuality but I’m assuming it means more than a usual minute measurement. In less than a second, without a second thought, I’d walk away from this life I’m creating for myself, if I could see Handsome Husband holding out his hand to me. I don’t care about this life. I think I’m supposed to care and there’s some vague guilt that I don’t feel guilty about not caring but I don’t even seriously have the energy to feel guilty about not feeling guilty about not caring (my Catholic upbringing compels me to feel guilt in some measure about most anything. Old habits die hard).
I’m doing everything I can to get to where I suppose I need to be and, if I’m going to continue living and it appears I am because I haven’t died yet, want to be, which is joyous and happy again though I have no real belief that I’ll ever feel those emotions in the same way I used to feel them. How realistic would that be, after this? But I acknowledge that at some point I’ll more than likely feel engaged in life again.
Right now, this life I’m living? So surreal that even the surreal is surreal to me. I’m layered in disbelief that he isn’t at my side. I’m layered in pain that he isn’t driving our car, that we aren’t talking and loving and adventuring together.
That he’s, oh my god. Gone.