Life After Death: Day 51

Day 51: 12/26/16

     I felt like I needed to follow up on my previous entry today. Today has been a crappy day. A huge, crap filled day that I wish would hurry up and be over. Not all of my days are like today though. Some days are what I call good days because on those days, I actually take a shower, blow dry my hair, and wear actual clothes instead of my pyjamas or yoga pants that are paired with an oversized T-shirt. On the good days I try to leave the house and go buy groceries. The cats have to eat and I need to replenish my stash of ramen noodles. Apparently there are stores that deliver groceries and I can't lie, I have thought about having my food delivered. I have thought about never leaving the house again. It would be so easy to never leave the house ever again.

     Then I have a good day. A good day happens and I feel that I can actually have a conversation with other people. Not long, drawn out conversations, but things like, "Yes thanks, I did find everything I was looking for." That is what qualifies a good day for me. I can actually smile at strangers and feign interest in what they say to me. I know how it sounds for me to say, "feign interest". It sounds harsh and uncaring, but the truth is, I feign interest with the hope that if I fake it enough, it will become my truth. Pretending to be interested will cause me to find some glimmer of real interest. So far feigning interest isn't working but I plan to keep faking it until it becomes true.

     Yes, I know that there will be a day in which I will wake up and realize that it is another good day and that it is a good day on the heels of a string of good days. Trying to imagine when that will happen still eludes me. Currently, even on a so-called good day, I want to scream when people talk to me. I want to scream but I don't because I am terrified that if I do scream then I will be unable to stop. If I begin screaming, it is possible there will never, ever be a good day in my future.

     In the meantime, I'll take a page from the Rolling Stones. - if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.... Every night before I fall asleep, I try to imagine that tomorrow will be a good day and that I will take a shower, get dressed, and make my way out of the house and into the world of people. Perhaps if I can imagine a good day then tomorrow I will be able to fake it and then tomorrow will actually be a good day; a good day where I no longer have to feign interest and a good day where my reality does not include the nearly paralyzing fear of a complete and uncontrollable meltdown. 

Life After Death : This Ain't no Chick Flick

Day 39: 12/14/16
     Saturday is the Celebration of Life for Marc. Today, just getting out of bed is a challenge. Saturday is about the joy, the love, the really, really good things Marc brought into the lives of those he has touched. There is no room for sorrow, there is no room for my broken heart.


Day 41: 12/16/16
     Today, I am grateful for Moya and the kittehs. They make me get out of bed everyday. If I didn't get out of bed, they would suffer. Medication helps. I know, sounds so simplistic but in reality, the meds keep the deepest, debilitating sorrow at bay. Debilitating sorrow, the sort of sorrow that means I don't give a shit about anything, no other living creature, not even myself. The meds change the lack of caring into a mode of an almost mechanical existence. It allows me to put the grief on the back burner for now.
     Tomorrow is the Celebration of Life for Marc. My sister and my friend will be here tonight and they will help me get through the morning and get me to Arlington. Since I decided to celebrate Marc's life, rather than mourn what I have lost, I have been steeling myself for tomorrow. My sister, Dale, is coming to stay at my home so that The Moya is looked after so I can stay at the Celebration with everyone who comes to honor my husband. My friend, Andy, he is here to make certain I have a ride to and from Arlington. They both have their "duties" to carry out and their motivation is their love for me. I am such a lucky woman.
     To say I am an incredibly lucky woman sounds like a stark contrast from the subject matter I am writing about. To lose my husband in the prime of our lives does not sound as though I am such a lucky woman - does it? Sounds like exactly the opposite of such sentiment. The truth is, since Marc died, the people Marc and me included in our lives have surrounded me in their love and care. The sort of kind, generous love that has restored some of the "safe-ness" that Marc gave to me. That kind of love makes me an incredibly lucky woman.


Day 44:12/19/16
     Saturday was beautiful. Beautiful beyond words. The love, the stories, the laughter. and the joy. There were some tears, I felt the deep sadness that permeated the room. It lay there, mostly quiet, underneath the laughter and the desire to honor Marc. It would have been so easy to allow the sorrow to take over. So easy. Instead, I focused on all of the love and all of the amazing people who were able to come to Arlington and honor Marc's memory.
     I saw so many people on Saturday that I had not seen in so many years. Amazing, kind, loving people. I will be forever grateful for Saturday. Forever.
      Saturday was simultaneously the best and incredibly difficult day. Yesterday was our 23rd wedding anniversary; I was so incredibly exhausted. Exhausted to the point of numbness. My life will never be anything like I had thought it would be. When Marc proposed to me, he asked, "Will you spend the rest of my life with me?" I did.


Day 46:12/21/16
     Robotic.
     Today I had lunch with a dear friend whom I had not seen in person for about 25 years. It was good to see Vickie. Her heart is still as kind and loving as ever. Vickie has a sweetness about her that cannot be put into words. I've missed her.
     Over lunch we were talking about how I am making it through each day and the best word used to describe my days was "Robotic". My days feel very robotic, yes I have moments of laughter, or a smile, and some of my days are sad and filled with tears, but mostly my days are just robotic. I feel as though someone has flipped a switch in my head and emotions are no longer a part of the daily routine. At least for today. And yesterday. And tomorrow...


Day 48: 12/23/16
     Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I'll be driving to North Carolina tomorrow to be with my family. I want to cry, but I can't.

Day 51: 12/26/16
     In 1999 Marc and I began a tradition of going out for Chinese food on Christmas Day. Except for a couple of Christmases, when we were able to be with family on Christmas, we found a Chinese restaurant for dinner. I know I should
have been happy to be at home with my family yesterday, but the truth is, all I felt was empty. I was surrounded by people - all of whom I love deeply - but I felt completely alone. The entire day I kept thinking that I was still asleep and kept waiting to wake up and discuss with Marc about which Chinese restaurant we were going to be dining at for Christmas dinner.
     The feeling of emptiness isn't because it was Christmas, it is because Marc and me ... we actually liked each other. We liked hanging out with each other, going to restaurants, going out for walks at the river or on the Bay. We enjoyed our music and loved sharing new finds with each other. We enjoyed hanging out with each other. Now everything just feels hopelessly empty. Hopelessly, fucking empty.
     Most days my house looks like a scene from a chick flick after the leading character has her heart broken by her love interest. Well, I don't eat ice cream so there aren't any empty ice cream cartons laying around but there are lots of empty cookie packages and dirty dishes, and empty glasses.

My socks and shoes are scattered everywhere and clothes only ever seem to land in a pile next to a chair. Once a week I clean it all up. Seriously, what does it matter? Self respect? What ever. At the end of the day, the house is still empty. I am the only one here and I lack the motivation to care. Unlike the chick flick, where the lead character always gets her man back, my man will never walk through the doors again. It doesn't matter how much I wish for him to come back to me, he never will. This empty, messy house isn't a scene from a chick flick, it is my real life and on November 5th, shit really got real.
   
   
     

Life after Death: Day 38

Day 38 was a good day. Nothing special happened today, unless you consider that I have only cried once - so far. I showered, dressed in clean clothes, and went to the grocery store. Nothing special. Normal, everyday sort of day; I felt emotionally balanced most of the day. The only difference today from the old normal is that my day seemed to move along in a deafening silence. Each day is saturated with a silence almost too loud to bear at times.

When Marc wasn't traveling, or away from home, my mornings would begin with the sound of him climbing out of bed. I would lay there, half asleep, listening to the sounds of him moving around in the house. The shower would turn on and 10 minutes later I would hear it shut off. Next, I would hear the faucet running and he would brush his teeth, always followed by the sound of the ironing board squeaking open so that he could press his clothes for work. After getting dressed, I would hear Marc's footsteps as they headed back towards the bedroom....he always came to my side of the bed before he would leave for work so he could leave me with an "I love you," a kiss, and a big hug. The best hugs.

I loved those sounds of him beginning his days. The sounds of Marc moving through the house, showering, ironing, they always brought me comfort, and they always made me feel safe. When he was traveling or away from home, my mornings always started with a string of heart emojis, or kisses, and an "I love you sweetie!" He always wished me a good day and always made me feel loved and missed.

Now my days begin in absolute quietude. No more footsteps through the house, no squeaky ironing board, no more, "I love you", no more kisses, no more hugs, no more heart emojis or kiss emojis, and no more "I miss you!", no more feeling safe. All that is left is the deafening silence. That excruciating silence is the sound of loss.

Tomorrow will begin the same way today started. It will begin in quietude and just like today, I'll get up, get dressed, and I'll try to get things accomplished. Or, maybe I'll stay in my pyjamas all day and never leave the sofa. Only tomorrow will tell. 

Life after Death: Day 36

That tiny little word, "Loss" has elbowed me in the ribs yet again. Loss elbowed me, then leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Traditions. Our traditions." I realized that all of the fun, sweet traditions Marc and I had enjoyed all of these years were over. Certainly I could still continue with our traditions but the key word there is "our", not "my". What does one do with that? 

GO ARMY! BEAT NAVY! 

Speaking of traditions.....Go Army! Beat Navy! has been the battle cry in our home for 23 years. We have worn our Army swag and enjoyed our adult beverages each year while watching the Army-Navy game for 23 years. For the past 14 years, Marc and me have watched and enjoyed THE game, even in defeat we cheered Army on, waiting to bear witness when Army would give Navy a good whoopin'. Yesterday, Army won against Navy and my emotions were not the crazy loud, happy, ecstatic shouts of joy. Mind you, if Marc were still alive, we would have been at the actual game, cheering, hollering, and celebrating this win. We were both so excited about being able to go to the Army-Navy game this year.

Instead, I binge watched some show on Netflix because I couldn't bring myself to watch the game. Losing this tradition might pass less painfully if I simply did not watch the game. It is impossible for me to explain, but I knew Army would win; I knew it in my bones, deep in my soul, that this year would be the year for Army to once again claim victory over Navy. I knew Army would win and that Marc would not be here to celebrate with me. So I couldn't bring myself to continue on with a tradition that made me feel even more alone, more empty than I already feel.

Our tradition of watching the Army-Navy game is over. All of our traditions are over. No more dining together at a Chinese restaurant on Christmas Day, no more Sunday morning brunches, no more July 4th holidays with the cousins, just..... loss. 

Life after Death: Day 35

Kate: A man was killed right in front of me he died in my arms and I thought it cant end just like that on Valentine’s day and I thought about all other people who love him waiting at home, who will never see him again. Then I thought what if there is no one. What if you live your whole life and no one is waiting?
The Lake House

"I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself."

David Herbert Lawrence

In this world of loss, of grief, I am trying with every fiber in my being to not feel sorry for myself. Feeling sorry for oneself is not how one moves forward in life. 

35 days. It has been 35 days since Marc died and each day that passes I struggle to make sense of tomorrow. How do you makes sense of loss? Loss. The word means so much and yet it is so inadequate a descriptive for what it truly means. One tiny little word, yet it is meant to qualify so many levels of what has been lost. One tiny little word that is supposed to explain all of the many levels of grief. How do you explain loss?

Since Marc died, so many friends have reached out, trying to offer comfort and trying to help ease the pain in my heart - the pain in my soul. The kindness, the loving words, the gentleness in each word from each person has been touching and so very appreciated. Grief, however, cannot be assuaged by words, we all wish they could be but they cannot. With that being said, don't allow that fact to keep you from reaching out when someone you care about loses a person they love. There aren't words that can ease the pain, the fog that sets in cannot be penetrated by any word in the English language. Later though, once the fog begins to lift, the words others share still won't ease the pain but they do fill you with love. 

Since Marc's death I have been trying to navigate my way through the fog of this grief that has consumed me. Each time I think the fog is lifting and I can see clearly, I make the mistake of blinking. I blink and then the fog is rolling over me all over again. That moment of clarity I had before I blinked is gone and I am never quite sure if I'll ever have clarity again. 

Clarity, one of the many aspects of that tiny little word "Loss". How does a person move forward when nothing is clear, when the fog is swirling around you? No one can offer advice or answers for me. Even if someone tries, their answers would mean nothing to me. Only I can find the answers, but at this moment, I don't know the answer and I've tried with earnest to answer that question.