Personal Journal

reckoning

I think that this was beyond my ability to even imagine it before it. What it would feel like after Jean died. It's completely beyond my imagination.
Even now, as I'm supposed to be experiencing it, it's only beginning to sink in. Yesterday was a little part of that. Becoming sad while picking out a headboard, crying there but trying to put it off by going to see Cindy, and then when that failed, finally feeling it fully once I was home.

I didn't have a problem this morning cleaning out her makeup and stuff from the big bathroom. Maybe that's because I kept the hair stuff for me, even though I never used her stuff. Maybe that makes me feel like I'm only discarding a small portion of her in that space in my life.
But when I cleaned out the refrigerator, that's when I felt the loss again. Her soy milk, that I won't drink. Some of her liquid vitamins. All the food the neighbor bought that I never touched. I did empty a space of her completely.
And I cleaned out containers and put dishes away and I recognized myself "finding god in doing the dishes" again. Seeing where I am with this. I'm alone. Jean is dead. At 37. I'm alone, she cannot come back. I'm alone. I miss her, and it hurts, and I cannot help thinking that it's not fair because she cannot feel anything ever again. And I feel so bad for what she lost, her life, and there's no way for me to say to her that I'm so sorry. I have to go the next 30 or 40 years carrying that which I could not convey to her. Wondering where she would be in my life, where we would ber together if this had not happened.
Everything I do from here forward was not part of the plan.