A friend told me that you never really get over the death of your spouse. I always believed her with that. Way back 25 years ago, when depression was sittin on my head like a soft black bat, whispering in my ear and saying things like “you know…if you die now, in about 2 weeks they won’t even remember your name” I kind of believed that, and was worried by it. Now I understand, there is NO FORGETTING. I wouldn’t want to. Sure, all this really, really hurts, but the sharpness of it, the broken glass feeling in my heart that takes my breath away…that’s lessening. I almost said it was getting easier but that is the wrong way to put it. It’s more like those shards of glass have been rolled around in beach sand (maybe that’s why I have been so drawn there) and while still hard, have smoothed around the edges.
The shock is gone, the desperate blind fumbling because the world has turned upside down…that’s kind of easing. It still, sometimes, feels almost like a part I am playing and soon the curtain will drop and I can return to Real Life. Then again, it doesn’t…it is Almost Real now. When something quits working, when the check engine light came on in #4’s car and there was no one to listen to it and say “oh it’s probably the (whatever), get it in when you can, no emergency”, that was a real sort of hit. I am not accustomed to having to take vehicles places. But I don’t know if it’s the catalytic converter or the double jointed rasterizer.
That right, folks, All the Pain of Death and Loneliness can be yours, but New And Improved With Even MORE Inconvenience!
It’s taking a toll, that I should have expected but didn’t. Or at least..I don’t know…what was I expecting at 50, anyway? This morning, while fluffing the hair and checking the teeth for green bits (usually all that ever gets looked at in the mirror), a spent a minute actually LOOKING at my face. There are parts that are…well…drooping. I don’t know how else to put it. Weight loss? Possibly. Weary Gloomy Grief? Maybe. The seamstress in me looked and thought that a bit of a taking in here, at the ears, maybe 1/2 inch, not much at all, is all that’s needed to take care of those lines by my mouth that make it look like a ventriloquist’s dummy. Seriously…just a little in there, like that tuck at a waist when your butt’s big and the band gaps. I pondered plastic surgery for about 2 seconds and was horrified at the vanity of it…I have always taken great pride in my lack of vanity….and THAT thought made my head explode and I had to go to church.
It wouldn’t have been so bothersome if there had been Himself there, making me feel beautiful like he did every morning. I used to hear that every day, and now it’s been 5+ months and the affirmation is fading.
on the other hand, #3, Wife, and The Burrito (now 6 weeks old) came for the weekend, and no one seemed appalled by the lines, and Burrito looked at me and gave a big toothless grin, to which I replied “Ok, whatever you want, I’ll do it. you want cookies? What’s your favorite? A pony? A go-Kart? Name it. It’s yours, just do that again.”
The weekend, once again, as many of them are these days, was emotional. Highs and lows. Grinning babies and realizations of Old and No Longer 30.
Tho i swear, just that 1/2 inch pull to the side, and I looked 30. Except for the hair all grey, the bingo Wings, cellulite thighs, and crunchy knees.
It would be nice to hear someone say I’m beautiful, tho…and by someone, I mean Himself.