Wednesday, September 15, 2010

How Am I Doing?

I have a motor running inside of me 24/7.
It is a constant buzz in my chest. It never stops.
I've never had this feeling before.
I guess they call it stress.
They say that loosing your spouse is the highest stress factor someone can experience.
Who are they and how dare they say anything? What do they know?

I sit for hours on my front porch on one of the two matching rockers we have.
We were going to put the rockers on the porch of our new home.
The home that was going to look out over 12 acres of beautiful land.
That was our dream for the future.
The land is for sale.
That dream is gone. It died on August 11th.
I don't have a dream for the future now.
Dreams are for young and silly people. People who don't know that life can come crashing down in a moment.
I am not young and silly anymore.
So I sit and rock. Mornings turn into afternoons. Afternoons into night.
Sometimes in the middle of the night I wrap myself in TBHITW's warm blue robe (the one I sleep with) and sit out on the porch and rock. All alone.
During the day people walk by with babies in strollers. Husbands and wives and children and dogs.
They don't see me sitting here on one rocker, an empty rocker beside me.
Maybe I'm invisible.

I have found the perfect diet.
Fifteen pounds lost in 5 weeks.
It's that motor that never stops.
It's the buzz in my chest that won't quiet down.
It makes my hands tremble.
My hands never trembled before.

I read TBHITW's autopsy report.
It was obscene and disgusting and I don't think anyone should ever read an autopsy report of someone they love. Ever.
I cried for my beautiful husband's body and the indignity of it all.
I cried for me.
I cried for us.

I shouldn't be driving a car.
Everything startles me.
And mostly I'm scared - all the time.
Of everything.

I had TBHITW's cell phone service cut off. Now I don't even have his voice.
And I'm afraid I'll forget what he sounds like.
But I have to be practical, right?
Dead people don't need cell phones.

I sleep (when I sleep) on his side of the bed. On his pillows. I guess they are my pillows now.

I am going to cook tomorrow night. Maybe I'll eat too.
Maybe not.
Maybe I'll just cook.
Apples.
Apples are coming into season.
Fall was his favorite season, and winter.
We always went apple picking. And I'd make pie.
And applesauce.
And apple crisp.
And spiced apples.
And we would buy cider donuts and drink apple cider before going home with our bushel of freshly picked apples.
Last year we went apple picking late in the season. There weren't that many apples left on the trees. But we picked enough.
We always had enough.
I think maybe the colors of fall will be hard to look at this year. Too vibrant. Too real.

That's how I am doing...



23 comments:

  1. Be strong dear, you can do this, it will suck but you can do it. I pray, hope and dream that one day it will hurt just a little bit less.

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  2. It hurts and your angry..everything can come crashing down suddenly in someones life , but it can also..rise again ..a new life..you just have to ge thru this first...I send love your way. Marlene

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  3. I read your sadness that you write about so well. I keep praying that each day will get better in some sense. I am thankful that you always had enough together. That is a beautiful thing. Hugs. XX

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  4. It's only been such a short time. It will get better, but it will take a while. For me, it was one step forward and two steps back, for a long time. I joined a support group which really helped and did yoga for the physical symptoms. But prayer is what helped me the most. And you are in my prayers, each day, my friend. Love and hugs, Marguerite

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  5. That horrible monster in your chest is grief. After a while, it will become friendly enough for you to not recoil in fear of it. One day it will become quiet enough that it will become a tolerable hanger on....kinda like Shrek.
    I wish for you.... some peace in your broken heart.

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  6. Grief, while it does suck, is normal and I think you are doing OK. I have to believe that your communicating with us will help you to get better. You are not invisible, you are cared for deeply.

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  7. Yes, COOK. Lots. Cook. That's what you do. That's what you need.

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  8. I'm so sorry for everything you're going through! You're in my thoughts.

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  9. I know that buzzing. It's shock and grief. You are doing what you need to do. I wore my son's hat for weeks after he died. I wrote him letters and talked to him a lot. That big hole you have inside you will gradually get smaller. It will fill with love. My love to you.

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  10. Much love and light coming from the west.

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  12. Little bits of information like this "It was obscene and disgusting and I don't think anyone should ever read an autopsy report of someone they love. Ever." is something very helpful. Now, I will know not to actually read it myself, but to take it to the doctor and have him interpret it for me.

    Sorry for all you've been going through. ((Hugs))

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  13. I had a dream last night that you made spaghetti. I was glad that you were cooking, in the dream. Therapy, cooking is. Even though it's not always easy- it may be helping. Sending prayers your way!

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  14. I hope you can find some peace in cooking. I think of you everytime I cook and hold you in my prayers.

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  15. I can see myself feeling exactly the same way. I know that buzz.
    Sending a great big virtual hug.

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  16. Wishing you some sort of comfort and some measure of peace.

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  17. You need a break, maybe at least a weekend somewhere different, mountains are great, you can walk, breath fresh air and look at the beautiful scenery. I hope you dont get ill with the stress, look after yourself, lots of love and hugs xx

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  18. Sometimes getting through one day at a time needs to be amended to one hour at a time.

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  19. I sooooooo can relate to this. The buzzing, the shock, the grief, the sitting in the chair looking at the empty one. The sleeping on his side, cradling his clothes, losing weight.
    I also smell his comb and brush at night. I do understand your getting rid of the cell phone and then missing his voice. My husband's son took his socks and when I went to open the sock drawer, I was shocked!! Where are his socks?? He will need them (yeah, right). It's little things like that that drive us crazy.

    Keeping all the lights on in the house at night, giving things away and then asking for them back again. Changing my mind constantly. Not being able to think straight. And on and on and on.

    I sit in his chair at the kitchen table, so I don't have to face it's emptiness. In fact, I wear his t-shirts, sweaters, hat and gloves.

    It hurts and it sucks, bigtime!!!!! I did join an on-line widows/widowers support group and it helps.
    Sending hugs your way.

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  20. I too have an autopsy report that I can't bear to read. But, I keep rereading it in hopes that it will explain to me how this could happen. I wish I could ease your pain and give you a hug.

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  21. The journey you are on is one I can only imagine and shudder. I am thankful, however, that you have chosen to share it with us.

    I am praying, Linda.

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Wow. Thank you so much for taking the time to comment. I love feedback... what with being a cook and all. I will respond to your comments via email (if you do not have a "noreply" address or here, below your comment) As always, Bon Appetite!

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