Personal Journal

Round 1 of the wrecking ball

I'd say it hit me yesterday, the first wave.
I've spent a lot of time thinking that maybe I'm a rational enough person that overwhelming emotions aren't really going to visit me. I was wrong.
It started when I was shopping for a new headboard for the bed. We never had one and always wanted one. And since the bedroom is empty, it seemed to me the perfect time to have one delivered, and then move the bed back upstairs and start sleeping in the real bedroom again.

But I associate shopping for furniture - decorating - as Jean's area. I leaned on her for direction and she amazed me with her talent for it. She was the decorator of my own palette. I loved what she would do to rooms. It's like she was in my own mind.

And I missed that, and I felt guilty about spending "her" money on it - wondering if she would disapprove or something. But mostly I realized that she wasn't going to get to share in it - I picked out something nice that we both would like, but Jean's not here anymore.
So I cried in the car for a while.

But the worst of it hit when I came home. I went to my friend Cindy's house to see if she would come eat with me - I'm weary of eating alone anymore. But she wasn't home, and my cell was recharging at home. So I went and ate by myself and came home.
I sat down on the couch - Jean's couch where she spent all that time trying to rest and hopefully recover. Some of her papers are on the end table next to it.
One of them was askew, and visible on it was a bunch of Jean's signatures from a day where she was practicing signing her name with her left and right hand. She was right handed, but her condition was bad enough that she couldn't sign her own name that way anymore, and her left hand signature was far superior.
So there were 15 or 20 signatures of her name there - like she had come into the house while I was gone and signed her name to leave her mark for me.
And it made me miss her so terribly badly. It was like a lance thrown through my body that severed my spirit from me, and I cried like I never cried before.
I wailed. I howled. I could not stop - every time I thought I'd reached the depth of it and would wind down from the emotion, a new cliff was reached and I hurt all the more.
I scared the cats - they were crying at me and trying to comfort me. That's what finally edged me back. I was scaring them and so I got distracted from myself by the need to comfort them.
I told them I was okay. I just missed their mommy.

It was awful, but it was good, too. I can't explain that.

I miss her and I want her back, even if she's sick. I miss my best friend. Who wouldn't.
It's no fair to die at 37. It's bullshit. I can't believe she's not here anymore.

It is never too late to be what you might have been. -- George Eliot
Courage to start and willingness to keep everlasting at it are the requisites for success. -- Alonzo Newton Benn