I cried for mom today.
I cried for all the missed opportunities. She took care of grandma for so long. Then grandma was gone and we were both widows. I thought we would go to North Carolina. Perhaps the first of many trips together.
She had such a kind heart and I waited until she was dieing to realize it. She said since I was 18 it was a few phone calls a year, a visit for half a day every few years, an odd holiday. How sad. How selfish. I just thought she would always be there. Of course that is what I thought. I was so busy in my life. She was a picture in my head, mom at home. I did not think I needed her. I did not even think I liked her. Yet, in those few days before the pain medication took over her thinking, I really loved her. I wanted so much for her. I could have done so many easy, little things to make her life better. I was her oldest daughter, her baby girl, and I shunned her. I talked bad about her. I avoided her.
I moved in with her when she was dieing out of love and caring for her, not out of any sense of duty. I knew first hand, or rather second hand, how scary it was to die. How she could not possibly live alone with cancer. It was then I saw what a truly beautiful women she was and I realized she had always done for others. She was such a loving soul. I truly miss her. I sadly miss the relationship that could have been if I took the time for her, or judged her as an adult, if I did not listen to anyone else but saw for myself if I enjoyed her friendship. I have lost again. I have lost my husband. I have lost my mother. I realize I have also lost the chance of having a close, loving relationship with my mother.
I am adrift, alone, and the tears drip from my cheeks and run off the edges of my nose onto my husband’s sweater.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
1 Year, 9 Months - Suicide
I try to think of reasons not to kill myself again.
I picture curling up in child’s pose and slicing my wrist, pealing my rib cage open or taking a gun and shooting my chest.
I try to convince myself it is just the financial worries and I have been worse off financially. That it is not the ache I still have for my husband, the constant unsatisfied yearning for him to hold me, to let me feel loved, to know that I will be all right. That it is not my mom dieing. Memories of her naked in pain, saying she was a good person, why was her life so hard. Why is my life so hard? I am good. I try to convince myself it is only money. Just wait. Don’t kill yourself today.
I picture curling up in child’s pose and slicing my wrist, pealing my rib cage open or taking a gun and shooting my chest.
I try to convince myself it is just the financial worries and I have been worse off financially. That it is not the ache I still have for my husband, the constant unsatisfied yearning for him to hold me, to let me feel loved, to know that I will be all right. That it is not my mom dieing. Memories of her naked in pain, saying she was a good person, why was her life so hard. Why is my life so hard? I am good. I try to convince myself it is only money. Just wait. Don’t kill yourself today.
1 Year, 8 Months - Fading Memories
I curl up. I lay in yoga position of sleeping child. I try to remember you.
Remember more than your name, the thought of you, or visiting how I loved you, visiting my ache of missing you. I see only photographs or scenes from the day of those pictures in my mind. I want new memories. I do not want to be limited in my memory of you. I want to see a vision of you including your head, which seems to be fading. I want to remember your smell, your voice, your smile, your eyes, your body, the way you moved, where we were, all at once, without the need to focus and recall. I want memories of the everyday, driving, waking, watching TV, and eating. Oh, and to hear your treacherous snore!
And in the other bed my mom is dieing.
Remember more than your name, the thought of you, or visiting how I loved you, visiting my ache of missing you. I see only photographs or scenes from the day of those pictures in my mind. I want new memories. I do not want to be limited in my memory of you. I want to see a vision of you including your head, which seems to be fading. I want to remember your smell, your voice, your smile, your eyes, your body, the way you moved, where we were, all at once, without the need to focus and recall. I want memories of the everyday, driving, waking, watching TV, and eating. Oh, and to hear your treacherous snore!
And in the other bed my mom is dieing.
1 Years, 7 Months - Reminders, Memories
I am stripping the bed to wash the mattress cover. I lean over and look between the bed and the wall. Seeing all those mismatched socks brings tears to my eyes and such longing.
Every morning your alarm would go off before the sun rose. Sometimes it was dark and other times of the year the sun would be rising, with the color changing on the horizon, the lighter colors advancing across the deep blue sky. You would turn off the alarm and quietly sneak out of the bed. I would be awake, but not quite, with my eyes closed. I would listen to the familiar sounds, the creak of the bedroom door then the creak of the bathroom door. Silence for a few minutes, sometimes longer, then the shower turning on. I could tell it was the hot water and then a pause, the sound of the water increasing, as he turned on the cold faucet. Hearing the rings, as the shower curtain moved open and closed, I would drift to sleep.
I would awake again as the bedroom door opened. Rob dressed in jeans and a t-shirt for work. If it was cold his uniform would include a button-up cotton shirt over the t-shirt, blue or green, opened and un-tucked, cardigan style. The air would be damp from the steam escaping the bathroom. He would lean over me. I could smell his Contradiction for Men cologne, his Neutrogena T-gel shampoo, the Right Guard Active deodorant, and Orange Listerine. He would smile. His hair a bit damp but always surprisingly dry since it seemed I just closed my eyes and he was in the shower.
He would shake the covers and straighten them, standing at the foot of the bed, flinging the comforters in the air momentarily losing sight of each other. I would complain of the cold, to leave the blankets alone. He would complain I pulled all the covers up around my head and left my legs bare, that is why I was cold. The last comforter would drift down, floating unevenly between us, wafting his fresh shower scents through the air. He would come to the head of the bed and kiss my forehead, one arm extended next to my ear, the fresh Right Guard winning the aroma contest.
He would smile and say ‘I love you‘. I would smile and say, ‘Be Careful’. I used to worry. He was always so tired from working long hours in the heat with the long commutes. I worried because he tended to fall asleep anywhere, even when driving. I would say ‘Rob’ and he would snap awake. ‘I was blinking’. And I would respond, ‘That was a long blink. Let me drive’ and he would. I worried he would fall asleep driving or be electrocuted at work. Men were always getting hurt, going to the hospital, some died. Rob was always going to the emergency room for himself or taking other construction workers. I would say, ‘I love you, be careful.’ As I drifted back to sleep I would be comforted by the sound of the key in the door lock.
I often still wake at 4:30 or 5:00. The time of the alarm and then the good-bye kiss. I still find comfort in the sound of the key turning the front door lock of our house when I am in bed.
Oh yah, why the sadness tonight? When the covers floated above our heads Rob would playfully scorn me. My socks were always under the covers. Cold toes as I went to bed became hot. He always fished the socks out of the tangled covers and put them in the hamper. To find a collection by the side of the bed, well it just emphasized that Rob was not collecting them anymore. They just gathered dust until I collected them while changing the sheets or dusting under the bed. Rob was no longer here.
Every morning your alarm would go off before the sun rose. Sometimes it was dark and other times of the year the sun would be rising, with the color changing on the horizon, the lighter colors advancing across the deep blue sky. You would turn off the alarm and quietly sneak out of the bed. I would be awake, but not quite, with my eyes closed. I would listen to the familiar sounds, the creak of the bedroom door then the creak of the bathroom door. Silence for a few minutes, sometimes longer, then the shower turning on. I could tell it was the hot water and then a pause, the sound of the water increasing, as he turned on the cold faucet. Hearing the rings, as the shower curtain moved open and closed, I would drift to sleep.
I would awake again as the bedroom door opened. Rob dressed in jeans and a t-shirt for work. If it was cold his uniform would include a button-up cotton shirt over the t-shirt, blue or green, opened and un-tucked, cardigan style. The air would be damp from the steam escaping the bathroom. He would lean over me. I could smell his Contradiction for Men cologne, his Neutrogena T-gel shampoo, the Right Guard Active deodorant, and Orange Listerine. He would smile. His hair a bit damp but always surprisingly dry since it seemed I just closed my eyes and he was in the shower.
He would shake the covers and straighten them, standing at the foot of the bed, flinging the comforters in the air momentarily losing sight of each other. I would complain of the cold, to leave the blankets alone. He would complain I pulled all the covers up around my head and left my legs bare, that is why I was cold. The last comforter would drift down, floating unevenly between us, wafting his fresh shower scents through the air. He would come to the head of the bed and kiss my forehead, one arm extended next to my ear, the fresh Right Guard winning the aroma contest.
He would smile and say ‘I love you‘. I would smile and say, ‘Be Careful’. I used to worry. He was always so tired from working long hours in the heat with the long commutes. I worried because he tended to fall asleep anywhere, even when driving. I would say ‘Rob’ and he would snap awake. ‘I was blinking’. And I would respond, ‘That was a long blink. Let me drive’ and he would. I worried he would fall asleep driving or be electrocuted at work. Men were always getting hurt, going to the hospital, some died. Rob was always going to the emergency room for himself or taking other construction workers. I would say, ‘I love you, be careful.’ As I drifted back to sleep I would be comforted by the sound of the key in the door lock.
I often still wake at 4:30 or 5:00. The time of the alarm and then the good-bye kiss. I still find comfort in the sound of the key turning the front door lock of our house when I am in bed.
Oh yah, why the sadness tonight? When the covers floated above our heads Rob would playfully scorn me. My socks were always under the covers. Cold toes as I went to bed became hot. He always fished the socks out of the tangled covers and put them in the hamper. To find a collection by the side of the bed, well it just emphasized that Rob was not collecting them anymore. They just gathered dust until I collected them while changing the sheets or dusting under the bed. Rob was no longer here.
2 Years, 3 Months - Dove
A dove flew inside my car today. Its wings above, its body forward, hovering for a brief moment like a hummingbird, faced towards me, belly side up. I was startled, then amazed, and unsure of the significance.
2 Years, 2 weeks - Sibling Wars
I am back in Seattle. My brothers are so mean to each other. My older brother is mean to me. Mom would cry. Dieing is such sad business.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
5 Years, 7 Months - Holidays
The family has gathered for Thanksgiving. We are all playing on the beach. Then my niece tells me there is a bee flying by me. She believes he comes to visit me.
She told me the first year that she kept seeing 444 all around her. She kept looking at the clock right at 4:44. I told her that was the day he died, 04/04/04. She did not realize the date was the same. She just could not figure out why this number kept showing up. Now she believes it is her uncle letting her know he is with her.
She told me the first year that she kept seeing 444 all around her. She kept looking at the clock right at 4:44. I told her that was the day he died, 04/04/04. She did not realize the date was the same. She just could not figure out why this number kept showing up. Now she believes it is her uncle letting her know he is with her.
2 Years, 11 months, 27 days - Signs
Signs - Beehive signs for freeway symbols, a stack of stuffed bees, Mexican restaurant sign on the curb featuring shrimp Diablo.
You were my worker bee. I was your queen bee. In Zihuatanjeo you only ate shrimp Diablo.
You were my worker bee. I was your queen bee. In Zihuatanjeo you only ate shrimp Diablo.
2 Years, 11 Months - Entitlement
I feel the materialistic desires are owed me. I wait, feeling entitled to wealth. After all, have I not lost all the important things in life?
Removed from my life entirely are the simplest things - love, happiness, a future, dreams, and hope. I have lost passion, desire, lust, ecstasy. Days drift by without joy. Even pain is trivial.
Why should I not then have luxury? Without love, with happiness taken away for half my life, with no hope of joy or visions of a future, should I not have wealth? Do I not deserve rich chocolate, down bedding, a daily massage? With the days dripping by can I not be sidetracked with endless money to gamble or shop? Am I not owed room service, luxury hotels, a personal assistant, a daily house cleaner, and a chef? With each step so difficult, could others do the daily chores of my life so I could have fewer troubles? Can you give me this my husband? Can you give me this God?
Could I win the lottery so I could worry less about mortgages, laundry, eating, and trivial responsibilities? With all that is pure gone, comfort, security, peacefulness, a warm body at night, someone to hold me, to smooth my hair when I cry, to call me several times a day, without any of this, can I at least have money to pass the days?
Removed from my life entirely are the simplest things - love, happiness, a future, dreams, and hope. I have lost passion, desire, lust, ecstasy. Days drift by without joy. Even pain is trivial.
Why should I not then have luxury? Without love, with happiness taken away for half my life, with no hope of joy or visions of a future, should I not have wealth? Do I not deserve rich chocolate, down bedding, a daily massage? With the days dripping by can I not be sidetracked with endless money to gamble or shop? Am I not owed room service, luxury hotels, a personal assistant, a daily house cleaner, and a chef? With each step so difficult, could others do the daily chores of my life so I could have fewer troubles? Can you give me this my husband? Can you give me this God?
Could I win the lottery so I could worry less about mortgages, laundry, eating, and trivial responsibilities? With all that is pure gone, comfort, security, peacefulness, a warm body at night, someone to hold me, to smooth my hair when I cry, to call me several times a day, without any of this, can I at least have money to pass the days?
2 Years - Second Anniversary of Death
Today is two years and the rain is pouring all our tears. The white lilies, death flowers, are blooming.
When I got in the car, Elton John was playing for me ‘Someone save my life tonight.’ Elton John was special because only you knew I liked him. If you were channel surfing you always stopped for Elton John, turned to me and smiled. Then I would sing for you. Only for you, otherwise I only sang alone in my car.
When your daughter and I checked into the hotel, she found a watch on top of the folded towels. I said we should turn it in to Lost and Found. She said it was a gift from you. Who else would leave something in our room on this day? A watch with white, your favorite color on me, and an orange stripe, my favorite color, that matched the shoes I was wearing, with a silver tone square face, because I only wear silver or platinum and I like squares, and four rhinestones. Four, 04-04-04, the day you died.
I got in my car. The tears fell in a solid stream on the outside corners of my eyes. I held my head in my hands. I rested my elbows on the steering wheel and I wailed. Slowly, then deeper, the wailing mounted, injured, hurt, sadness from deep inside.
Only one of my oldest friends called today. Your daughter and I mourned. We left a rubber duck under a small tree overlooking the end of the Grand Canyon, on top of the highest rock on the ledge, off trail at Canyonlands National Park. We left it at the Grand Canyon because the first time both of us saw it was with you. We left it at the end of the deep canyon because what was deepest in us had ended. We left one of your rubber ducks because we wanted to be there with you. Because it still hurts.
When I got in the car, Elton John was playing for me ‘Someone save my life tonight.’ Elton John was special because only you knew I liked him. If you were channel surfing you always stopped for Elton John, turned to me and smiled. Then I would sing for you. Only for you, otherwise I only sang alone in my car.
When your daughter and I checked into the hotel, she found a watch on top of the folded towels. I said we should turn it in to Lost and Found. She said it was a gift from you. Who else would leave something in our room on this day? A watch with white, your favorite color on me, and an orange stripe, my favorite color, that matched the shoes I was wearing, with a silver tone square face, because I only wear silver or platinum and I like squares, and four rhinestones. Four, 04-04-04, the day you died.
I got in my car. The tears fell in a solid stream on the outside corners of my eyes. I held my head in my hands. I rested my elbows on the steering wheel and I wailed. Slowly, then deeper, the wailing mounted, injured, hurt, sadness from deep inside.
Only one of my oldest friends called today. Your daughter and I mourned. We left a rubber duck under a small tree overlooking the end of the Grand Canyon, on top of the highest rock on the ledge, off trail at Canyonlands National Park. We left it at the Grand Canyon because the first time both of us saw it was with you. We left it at the end of the deep canyon because what was deepest in us had ended. We left one of your rubber ducks because we wanted to be there with you. Because it still hurts.
Friday, November 27, 2009
1 Year, 6 Months - Other Widows
Last night I went to a friend’s house for dinner. There were four of the women from the Hospice Grief Counseling for Young Widows and a new widow, a religious widow.
The baby of the widows still thinks he may come back. Perhaps it is a conspiracy. She is contemplating anti-depressants. Our host went to a singles group at church. Se opened the door and then turn and ran.
You have been sending me messages in songs. When I doubt it is you sending me songs the next song is by Elton John. I have never heard so much Elton John in my life. I sang the song for you, loud, with a smile knowing you are there and tears because you are gone.
One of the women says I am a riot. I was hyperactive and interrupted and talked too much, talked too much about me. You were always there to help moderate me. I was a better person with you.
The baby of the widows still thinks he may come back. Perhaps it is a conspiracy. She is contemplating anti-depressants. Our host went to a singles group at church. Se opened the door and then turn and ran.
You have been sending me messages in songs. When I doubt it is you sending me songs the next song is by Elton John. I have never heard so much Elton John in my life. I sang the song for you, loud, with a smile knowing you are there and tears because you are gone.
One of the women says I am a riot. I was hyperactive and interrupted and talked too much, talked too much about me. You were always there to help moderate me. I was a better person with you.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
5 years, 7 Months: Holidays Alone
It is 5:40pm and I have not eaten all day. This is normal on Thanksgiving because I want a large appetite for the pies. This Thanksgiving I go to the Jack-in-the-Box drive-thru. As I am waiting for my cheeseburger, I can feel the tears threatening to expose my loneliness. Then the unfortunate guy who is working on Thanksgiving will know my life is more pathetic. For now, I want to keep that a secret. When I turn the corner, I see the homeless woman and her dog. Shopping Cart Syndrome is not just a syndrome. I give her all my money, fifty cents. On the trip back home, I push my tongue against the roof of my mouth just behind my front teeth. I look up with my eyes only. These two techniques will usually stop the tears. Finally, the eyestrain becomes annoying and it is hard to see the road looking at my car's headliner. The tears flow and they do not stop. A slight sting in the eye corners, a bit of tightening in the cheeks, some warmth, and my vision clouds over and then clears and I can feel the wet enemies march downwards for another soundless cry
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
1 Year, 6 Months - Inertia
I cried today
Sadness has weighed me down
I don’t want to move
I was up Friday and Saturday with no sleep
I feel nauseous
I don’t care about working
Moving takes so much effort and I don’t even care if I do move
Sadness has weighed me down
I don’t want to move
I was up Friday and Saturday with no sleep
I feel nauseous
I don’t care about working
Moving takes so much effort and I don’t even care if I do move
1 Year, 5 months - Signs
I just miss you honey. I feel your hug in the wind and it comforts me. I think of you and see a large daisy sign. I wish you were by my side and I see a bus with a bee.
1 Year, 4 Months - Praying to the dead
Honey, can’t you help? Why isn’t it working? I promise I’ll lead a fulfilling life and not just stay inside, predominately in bed. Help me honey.
5 Years, 7 Months - The Holidays
The holidays suck. I just talked to a friend that is a young widow without kids. She was expecting dinner at the in-laws as usual. However, her phone calls were ignored and then she finally got a cold reception when the sister answered. She now realizes she is spending Thanksgiving alone.
Losing a spouse usually means losing more people as well. Who are the in-laws and the stepchildren after death? Legally they are not related to you any longer. Not only have you lost the person that touches every aspect of your life but an entire branch of your family tree is severed. My brother-in-law called yesterday. I was expecting an invite as well but it was just a message to say 'Have a nice Thanksgiving'.
Sure, I have made plans for the past holidays. I don't just wait to be invited. I went to Mexico and ate lobster with two widows in their 20s the first year. I have hosted several holiday dinners and went to a friend's house one year. Nevertheless, there remains the void. You are now family-less. You are no longer married. Basically you are single. Your in-laws remain family at will. Your extended family spends the time with their immediate family - children, in-laws, and spouse. Another holiday season and I will be alone. This year will be Thanksgiving dinner take-out again. I do eat in restaurants alone all the time now. Yet to go out to dinner alone on Thanksgiving or even cook for one is too pathetic. Better yet to pretend it is just another day. Some years are better than others. It is not a straight line forward.
Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day he proposed.
Losing a spouse usually means losing more people as well. Who are the in-laws and the stepchildren after death? Legally they are not related to you any longer. Not only have you lost the person that touches every aspect of your life but an entire branch of your family tree is severed. My brother-in-law called yesterday. I was expecting an invite as well but it was just a message to say 'Have a nice Thanksgiving'.
Sure, I have made plans for the past holidays. I don't just wait to be invited. I went to Mexico and ate lobster with two widows in their 20s the first year. I have hosted several holiday dinners and went to a friend's house one year. Nevertheless, there remains the void. You are now family-less. You are no longer married. Basically you are single. Your in-laws remain family at will. Your extended family spends the time with their immediate family - children, in-laws, and spouse. Another holiday season and I will be alone. This year will be Thanksgiving dinner take-out again. I do eat in restaurants alone all the time now. Yet to go out to dinner alone on Thanksgiving or even cook for one is too pathetic. Better yet to pretend it is just another day. Some years are better than others. It is not a straight line forward.
Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day he proposed.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
1 Year, 3 Months - Getting through the days, emptiness
Another day …
I take off my pants and drop them in the hamper. I pull the t-shirt over my head and let it fall on top of the pants. When I am sitting peeing I see the antenna of a small roach. It is time for me to buy more roach hotels.
I crawl in bed in old panties with a maxi overnight pad and a tank top. I lay on top of the Pemberton wool blanket. I believe the clean sheets are wedged between the headboard and mattress. The other side of the bed is tangled with clean laundry. I have not made my bed in months. I arrange the pile of pillows and lay my feet near the window. For unknown reasons, I sleep with my head at the footboard now.
I hear the crickets and think of you sweating in the sun. You uncovered a large cricket mound digging a ditch by the driveway. I never knew they nested underground like ants. A swarm of crickets flew and swirled around us. I did not hear them in the garage afterwards. However, they crickets are back now. I hear them in the patio.
We wanted a driveway that would park two cars. You wanted to cement the strip of flower beds that separated our driveway from the neighbors grass. I wanted the flower bed as an area to plant tall bushes that would block the view of the neighbors and close off our home. I wanted to cement over the grass. However, the grass was the only part of the yard you liked. We compromised half the flower bed strip and half the grass for the driveway extension. You dug down three feet to get rid of the weeds and poor dirt so I could plant the bushes. We purchased the plants in Cambria on our anniversary get-away and carried them home in the backseat. The trunk was filled with cases of wine you bought while wine tasting. The smell of dirt and Mexican sage enveloped us on our drive home. Two plants died after awhile. The other three grow and spread. The sound of crickets reminds me of you.
My life is led by others now. I don’t do what I want. The phone pages me all day. I work for others. My weekends are planned for me. I have no joy. I must hide to be left alone. I wake when others tell me, I follow their dictates by day, and I eat a little when I remember. I mostly smoke and drink Diet Cokes. I resign to sleep some nights. I protest other nights and stay up so I am free to do what I want, free from phone calls, rebelling against the drudgery of my afternoons. I think of you. Did you send me those birds, those signs? Is the song on the radio your words to me?
I am not as sad anymore. I never cry. I only wail occasionally. The pain is buried too deep for tears and requires an emptying, releasing, a minimum of wailing and moaning. I do not cry. I do not care.
Slowly I resign myself to the drudgery, the emptiness, the loneliness. I accustom myself to daily dreariness and to walking with a hollow feeling. The hollowness is like hunger without satisfaction. It is more of a mild hunger, rather than starvation, as in waiting a long time for dinner after forgetting to eat breakfast and lunch. Maybe this is why I eat less. Why I forget to eat. I am getting used to the emptiness and forget sometimes it is only a hunger for food, which I can meet. I am so used to a longing, the forsaking, the loss of love returned, of love satisfied, of love seen and felt. I must forget that some of the ache is merely hunger for food.
I take off my pants and drop them in the hamper. I pull the t-shirt over my head and let it fall on top of the pants. When I am sitting peeing I see the antenna of a small roach. It is time for me to buy more roach hotels.
I crawl in bed in old panties with a maxi overnight pad and a tank top. I lay on top of the Pemberton wool blanket. I believe the clean sheets are wedged between the headboard and mattress. The other side of the bed is tangled with clean laundry. I have not made my bed in months. I arrange the pile of pillows and lay my feet near the window. For unknown reasons, I sleep with my head at the footboard now.
I hear the crickets and think of you sweating in the sun. You uncovered a large cricket mound digging a ditch by the driveway. I never knew they nested underground like ants. A swarm of crickets flew and swirled around us. I did not hear them in the garage afterwards. However, they crickets are back now. I hear them in the patio.
We wanted a driveway that would park two cars. You wanted to cement the strip of flower beds that separated our driveway from the neighbors grass. I wanted the flower bed as an area to plant tall bushes that would block the view of the neighbors and close off our home. I wanted to cement over the grass. However, the grass was the only part of the yard you liked. We compromised half the flower bed strip and half the grass for the driveway extension. You dug down three feet to get rid of the weeds and poor dirt so I could plant the bushes. We purchased the plants in Cambria on our anniversary get-away and carried them home in the backseat. The trunk was filled with cases of wine you bought while wine tasting. The smell of dirt and Mexican sage enveloped us on our drive home. Two plants died after awhile. The other three grow and spread. The sound of crickets reminds me of you.
My life is led by others now. I don’t do what I want. The phone pages me all day. I work for others. My weekends are planned for me. I have no joy. I must hide to be left alone. I wake when others tell me, I follow their dictates by day, and I eat a little when I remember. I mostly smoke and drink Diet Cokes. I resign to sleep some nights. I protest other nights and stay up so I am free to do what I want, free from phone calls, rebelling against the drudgery of my afternoons. I think of you. Did you send me those birds, those signs? Is the song on the radio your words to me?
I am not as sad anymore. I never cry. I only wail occasionally. The pain is buried too deep for tears and requires an emptying, releasing, a minimum of wailing and moaning. I do not cry. I do not care.
Slowly I resign myself to the drudgery, the emptiness, the loneliness. I accustom myself to daily dreariness and to walking with a hollow feeling. The hollowness is like hunger without satisfaction. It is more of a mild hunger, rather than starvation, as in waiting a long time for dinner after forgetting to eat breakfast and lunch. Maybe this is why I eat less. Why I forget to eat. I am getting used to the emptiness and forget sometimes it is only a hunger for food, which I can meet. I am so used to a longing, the forsaking, the loss of love returned, of love satisfied, of love seen and felt. I must forget that some of the ache is merely hunger for food.
Monday, November 9, 2009
2 Years, Twenty Days - Songs, Alone
One verse keeps running through my head, "I don't know what to do, cause you know I still love you". I sing it over and over to myself like a jewelry box opening and closing its lid with the lonely dancer spinning in circles. I have done three rewinds before I realize it.
The toilet keeps running. I know it is the flap. Isn't anyone going to fix it? Do I call a plumber? Do I go to Home Depot? Do I tinker with it? When did I become so inept?
The toilet keeps running. I know it is the flap. Isn't anyone going to fix it? Do I call a plumber? Do I go to Home Depot? Do I tinker with it? When did I become so inept?
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