how did i get here?

my husband, my beautiful Dragon, died suddenly at 12:03 AM on 9 February 2009. there was a cold, lovely full moon and 3 feet of snow on the ground. i "slept" for the following 10 months and "woke" to the physical and emotional pain and torments of deep grief. i "woke" to find i had moved the day of his funeral and that i am lost. i am looking for me while i figure out the abstract, unanswerable questions that follow behind any death. my art has evolved. his death changed that as well because i am forever changed and will forever bear the mark of losing the only man i can ever love.
there is alive and there is dead and there is a place in between. i am here wholly in my heart for my children, but i feel empty inside at this time. i miss him. i have not gotten very far in my grief journey. i make no apologies for this.
this is my place, my blog, where i write to tell the universe that i am still here.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

left out in the fog on the 5 month milestone

tonight at midnight it will be 5 months.

i'm not sure when the word recent gets taken away from in front of the word widow (or widower, to not leave anyone out), and i'm not sure how i feel other than left. not behind. not abandoned. he didn't want to go, i'm sure. but i feel left.

it's all the usual stuff. i wish i could have talked to him about this. about that. i wish i could have looked him deeply in the eyes and said fervently, in that voice of awe that i had for him, "honey, i love you." i wish he could have stayed longer. i wish we'd had more time.

it's also all the usual stuff of after a spouse dies, i guess, especially if you moved around like we did and we were each other's best friend. there's no one there to talk to. i have my children but even their lives have progressed while i feel like i'm being dragged in their wake. i don't want to go anywhere. i want to stay here. metaphorically. i want to stay right here and have the time to sit, and ponder, to sleep (if only i could - i'm so tired still - only Tylenol PM knocks me out and i worry about taking it every freakin' night), to just breathe in this abrupt change. i've had none of that. i moved the day of the funeral. i've hustled to create a job for myself. i have sought out a widow's group. there are a handful of people who actually know my face now. can call me by name.

it's kinda sad how the group is about being able to reach out and call each other. i've had a very hard couple of weeks due to an outside body slam from someone. out of the blue they decided to reach into my chest and backhand my already bleeding heart. this person knows i'm a widow. knows how much i adore my husband. knows that i am suffering, and still. she did it. with intent.

so i called and emailed the first person in the group that i felt closest to. she hasn't responded. i tried another. and another. and another. and i tried calling and emailing the facilitator of the group. nada. not a sound.

there was this day that my husband and i walked Long Beach in Rockport. it was a Fall day, heavy with fog, a sullen sky that seemed depressed and censoring. menacing with the promise of rain turning to sleet later. our kind of day. so spiritual. we took our two Scotties and walked. the only people on the beach. we would try to talk but our voices were muffled by the heavy sky. we had to be standing next to each other to hear each other. it was a nice day.

right now it feels like i'm walking a beach in a fog, but it's not nice at all. it's frightening. i'm alone. my husband can't help me. he isn't here to talk to. he isn't here to hold my hand. he isn't here to hold me. my husband, my best friend, has died and i'm alone in the fog. i've called out to people. living people here. not online names without faces. i've tried to find a human being to talk to about this pain and no one is there. i'm alone on the beach. i'm having to bounce my thoughts off myself and it's a lonely process, especially when i have a whole list of people who are supposed to be aware we are all out here and might need an ear. but they have established friends and family, and another holiday is coming for just that set of people.

Fourth of July. i'll be home alone. sewing on my quilts. working on the embroidery for my daughter's wedding aisle runner. the Twilight Zone marathon will be on Sci Fi channel.

it will be the best i can do since no one can hear my voice calling from the fog.


Suddenwidow said...

I hear you calling out in the fog. I'm on another beach, too far to see but far enough to hear. I'm sorry that your group hasn't turned out to be the support group they should be. But you can email me anytime. And even though I am lucky to have some people who love me around, it is still incredibly lonely because the only person who could break through my sadness, lonliness, grief, is Austin. It's amazing how lonely I can be around other people. It is like being in a heavy fog. Interesting metaphor.

I wish you peace tonight. You are in my thoughts.



Supa Dupa Fresh said...

I'm so sorry you feel alone. I wish I had a face. Remember that the ppl in grief group are also grieving and they aren't perfect, especially now. I'm sure at least one or two are away this weekend and will feel so bad they missed your hour of need. Seems everyone in our town is away this weekend; we had ZERO playdates, which is kind of hell.

I think a "fog" is perfect, but I love your description of this day at the beach, when you were not really alone despite the fog. What a fresh and different image, the two of you unspeaking on a beautiful day.

I'm here if you want to write!



womanNshadows said...

thank you, Debbie and Supa. i knew you were all out there. but it's the human contact that is missing. hopefully of the handful of people i know in the real world will return from their two week vacations or busy times to check their messages. i know someone will eventually pop up. i hope.

J-in-Wales said...

Five months is so soon, and it is so easy to get lost in that fog. Your imagery is just perfect. Keep calling out and I hope you bump into someone else on your beach soon.

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