A friend invited me to go to Savannah with her, for some Retail therapy and food. And a beer. The floors can be done later and besides, they would just get dirty again anyway and if someone drops by I can look sad and say I just don’t have the heart to sweep up the dirt Himself tracked in a month ago. Or maybe that I dropped his box and it broke and his ashes scattered everywhere I am am so horrified and devastated that I am just leaving them here for the dogs to roll in. Or something.
Reality is, the box of Himself is intact, it’s just the floors look pretty bad and the people who come clean them once a week just had a baby and they’re busy glowing with happiness.
Anyway, retail therapy. much needed. The company that deals with the COBRA coverage refuses to answer the phone, with excuses of being busy or the phone system doesn’t work and when I went online to do something it won’t accept the number that is printed out on the thing THEY sent me, asking for my favorite basketball team as the security question. I don’t HAVE ONE. But I can’t get to a person. Whatever, Bring it on, you can’t do anything worse to me than has already been done, Ceridian.
Due to #4’s broken wing and prodigious growth habits, he needed new shirts. Now, normally nice big t-shirts work great, but they are difficult to don with one arm tied to one’s chest. The friend I was with suggested Goodwill, and Savannah being a big town with lots of rich people who like to wear things twice then donate them, it is a great place to find clothes. For the price of one shirt for a store like Macy’s or Dillards, I found him 8 shirts, including Ralph Lauren Polo, a couple of washable silk Hawaiian shirts, and some other name-brand pretty-expensive-ordinarily shirts in an assortment of colors. Kinda proud of myself and thankful for the suggestion!
The thing is this…I am not one to grieve for a long time. It’s kind of like, wearing the black (totally doing that because it is very slimming and goes nice with my silver hair) has taken over the duty of grief. Yes, I feel it, but the black is like some sort of alternate personality or something, that is carrying the load most of the time. It’s liberating. I was able to talk about Himself without crying. I could complain about things, and vent, then talk about the wonderful stuff, without breaking down into a soggy mess. I laughed about him, and was serious, and talked about things completely unrelated.
He was, and always will be, an enormous part of my life. I can’t talk about my past without including him. I love so much that I can talk about him, and that I can think of him with such love and fondness, occasional irritation, but never resentment or anger. I don’t know how long it will be before I quit thinking “Oh, I need to tell him about/ show him this” or “I wonder what he’d think of this” or “Oh I need to take him to this place, he loves a good burger and a beer.” There is a bit of sadness when that happens and I am thankful for that, because it means I still love him. I still feel anxiety at night, starting about now (6:00 pm) that will continue until I fall asleep around 9. That will probably last a long time. Maybe a year. I don’t know. But I do know that it is wonderful to be able to get out and do silly things, and enjoy it.