Staying busy helps. I have kept the recent days (last couple of weeks or so)filled with doing stuff…school things, studying, reading, sewing, planning things, volunteer things, things, things thing, busy productive-ish things. It’s good to see stuff accomplished, to have items checked off the list, to watch the pile in the out-box grow and the in-box diminish. Going places helps as well. One friend lives 30 minutes away, others like the movies, or a day trip to Savannah. There is usually someone to call on when the crunchy feelings start building up, some way to purge them that doesn’t involve anything illegal. Friends are good for that, especially the ones who have crunchy feelings of their own that require a purging. Or at least a couple of hours of ignoring.
It hurts right now, a low dull ache that occasionally spills over with that awkward and uncomfortable emotion stuff. I dislike emotion, ever since the validity of it was called into question 23 years ago. Oh, I know, what I am feeling right now is perfectly acceptable, normal, and expected, but 23 years of having to evaluate every single emotion means even these valid ones are initially suspect, disliked, and very uncomfortable. The hard part is the realization that they are also necessary, that stomping them down or stuffing them away will eventually result in my own reality show involving psychologists and a cleaning service. No thank you. I am determined to this the Right Way and allow room for a degree of heartache and occasional collapse. And junk food.
I have discovered how therapeutic a glass of really good wine can be in the evening. Before you get all worried, I am too cheap to drink more than one glass of the good stuff at a time. By “at a time” I mean per night. However, by taking it slow, enjoying the whole experience of a fine glass of Languedoc, while pondering my situation, and allowing for a degree of sorrow and reminiscing, it is handled with grace and dignity. I can deal with that. It’s the collapsing in a heap and wailing that upsets me more than the thing I’d be wailing about in the first place.
But…I miss him. A lot. I get angry over what his demise has done to the boys, how they have lost their father who was supposed to guide them through manhood. I am not really angry for what has happened to me, because I’m right in the middle of it and can see the whole perspective. I don’t have that with them, I can only see through the mother’s eyes. I miss my best friend, too. He came home (nearly) every night, that was dependable. I knew every single night someone would be here to talk to, who’s company I cherished. All gone now. Loneliness isn’t really the right word. Or maybe it is. I can’t really tell. Solitude doesn’t bother me, it never has, but not having that dependable person in the evening is leaving an empty spot that I dislike immensely. That spot can’t be filled by just anyone, either. That idea is not one I am willing to entertain right now.
But the past couple of days, coming up on a year that he’s been gone, they have been kind of foggy and grey. #4 feels it as well, wanting to stay under a blanket than get out and do his thing. I know that feeling! This morning was hard for us both to get started, but he admitted that a cup of coffee and a good breakfast went far in making him feel better. We will all be ok, this is one of those uphill climbs all the self-help books speak of. Avoiding it would cause more harm than good, so we shall endeavor to persevere.