comfortably numb

so, as Bunny wrote, i've been reading a lot.  insomnia has been my buddy these last weeks so i've been going through books like a starving soul at a banquet.  what am i searching for?  my defense at feeling this way?  my excuse?  my justification?

"where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which i find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.  i miss you like hell."  ~Edna St. Vincent Millay

"when you have nobody you can make a cup of tea for, when nobody needs you, that's when i think life is over."  ~ Audrey Hepburn

"loneliness is the human condition.  cultivate it.  the way it tunnels into you allows your soul room to grow.  never expect to outgrow loneliness.  never hope to find people who will understand you, someone to fill that space.  an intelligent, sensitive person is the exception, the very great exception.  if you expect to find people who will understand you, you will grow murderous with disappointment.  the best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way."  ~ Janet Fitch, White Oleander

“the best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. that's the only thing that never fails. you may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. there is only one thing for it then — to learn. learn why the world wags and what wags it. that is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. look what a lot of things there are to learn.”~ T.H. White, The Once and Future King 

then i got this message - it's called "Messages From God," and i subscribed to it.  at times they are eerily what i need to hear.  {to anyone reading who does not believe or believes something/someone different, please do not be offended.}

it's time you remembered who you really are.

you are not your wallet, your job, your kids, your house. you are not your activities or your worries or the labels other people give you. like an actor you play these roles, and like a good actor you sometimes forget who you really are. time to wake up now, and remember that you are a being of immense power and breathtaking beauty created in the image of God.

 i have gotten comfortable with feeling down.  i have lost weight and my daughter says i am looking fantastic.  40 lbs. total so far.  i want to lose another 20 and i think i might be okay there.  the doctor is pleased.  i wish i could be.   i feel so lifeless.  i'm excited about being a grandmother.  gran'ma Bunny.  but i have this melancholy feeling all the time.  i'm neither too up nor too down.  i'm just going through life with my head down.

i feel like i'm on the outside looking in at life.  i see fun.  i hear about the fun others have.  i haven't had fun in so long.  i had fun last year when i visited my son.  this year i do not get a vacation.  i am, however, scheduling my colonoscopy, a mammogram, and pap smear.  whoopie.  i always have anxiety over medical tests.  terrified of these now.  wish i had someone to go with me.  my daughter says to call her mother-in-law to go.  i'm thinking of doing just that.

i am working on some really nice things for my daughter's baby.  boho baby things.  she's due Christmas Eve.  i'll be taking photos of these newest creative ventures and posting as i get them done.  sill working on this last quilt.  she has added more embroidery.  i have hung my head and resigned myself to probably never being done with this quilt.  i am not sure if she realizes how much work all this is.  all by hand.  it has become a burden and i am so very worn out with this one quilt.  king sized.  intricate embroidery of scenes like sunset behind a silhouette of the Golden Gate bridge - {118 hours to do that one}.  and now she wants more.  and how can i say no?  its her memory quilt.  and no one does it like i do.  all by hand.  anything you want.  any picture.  i paint with embroidery floss.

i'm up and i'm down.  i'm neither too okay nor too sad.  "i have become comfortably numb." {~ thank you, Pink Floyd.}

p.s. i've decided to take a class at a yarn shop.  i want to learn to crochet.  maybe i'll meet some nice women there.  maybe i'll find someone to talk to; to hang out with upon occasion; maybe a ~ friend?

the bad thing happened

i happened today.  i was called to a meeting.  they are closing my store.

the silver lining is that they want me to move back to the store i trained in; the one that is 5 minutes from my apartment.  i will be making $2 an hour less, dropping down in health benefits but still keeping some.  it all happens on April 25th.

i have already started looking for another part time job so that i can get back that 40 hour work week.  going to try to get something so much closer to the apartment.  no more 35 minute drives to work.  just 5 minutes up the road to the mall, or some shop close by.

please wish me luck.  i need it.  i cried all day.  i asked for it off, paid, so that i could grieve over this and get myself regrouped to face the upcoming fall out of putting up signs in my store that we're closing.

this has hit me so hard.  my daughter is sort of happy since i have been so very stressed.  it has damaged my health to be so stressed.  i hope everything works out for me.  i hope i get lucky and find another little job.

i'm a little bit happy to be going back to my old store.  it is so very close.  God, i missed being so close to home.  that drive was killing me financially with gas going up to $4 a gal, plus the exhaustion of working so long and then having that long drive back so late at night.  now if i can just find another position somewhere.  two part time jobs.  i'm not over-qualified so maybe i'll have a chance.

please wish me luck.  i need it.

i wish i could talk to him.  he had been in tight jams before.  he was such a survivor, well, until he didn't survive the heart attack.  i have to be honest and say i have been worried about myself, about the way i've been feeling physically.  i'm so tired and my back and neck burn and ache, and it sometimes goes into my armpit.  my blood pressure has been good and i take all my meds.  i pray, meditate, talk to ...... let's just call it prayer.  i'm trying to hard to be worthy of better luck in this life and then be worthy of peace and safety in the next.

but i am just so broken.

right now, tonight, i am terrified, filled with stress and worry,

and am having a hard time holding onto hope.

it's taking all i have left to keep going.

fear and worry

wish i knew what to say.  just reaching out to anyone who will listen.  fear and worry are taking over my life.  money.  stress.  my daughter is the same way.  gas is almost $4 a gallon.  $20 barely gets me half a tank and i have to drive 30 minutes each way.

and i have been told not to hang from a rope about a raise.  my store did not earn enough.  the traffic through there and the things they bought compared to other larger stores in more tourist areas did not make enough.  even the tourist area stores are down.  so how do i pay rent, gas, car payment, bills, and eat when i cannot afford those things?

really?  all the hard work i put into that store and there is no cost of living raise?  not even a $1 more an hour?

and looking for a job now, at my age, in this economy.............

fear and worry.  wish i had someone to talk to.  to unburden on.  holding it all in and crying alone on my own.

maybe i won't have to worry for long.  the freakin' stress will kill me.

i see the world so differently now.  so few care.  everyone is in the water fighting to hold on.  and the ones that have a place on the raft are trying to get away from the rest of us as fast as they can.

"this is the way the world will end

not with a bang but a whimper."  ~ T.S. Eliot

i hear the whimpering every day.  and with the intensity of my own fear and worry, my own has joined the chorus.

i need some hope.  can't seem to find where i lost mine.

oh, how much i wish he were here to talk to, to lean on, to help me.  the grieving process slows, comes to a complete halt, when there are so many worries.  it's a cruel, antagonistic world.  i need ............. something.

fading away

the doctor was wrong, i think.  i feel worse and worse.  i've woken up crying because i am awake.  i feel lost and alone at this time.  no plans for the future except to keep my head down and work and scrimp out a living.  no dreams big or small except hoping i get time to see my daughter next month, and my son after that.  no dreams at all for anything. 

when a person stops having hopes and dreams, little plans for a future fun or day off, are they even a real person anymore?  i don't know how long these feelings will last, but i guess i have to last.

i wish for a break from this:  physical pain {i have a day off next month, doctor visit that day for diabetes, going to talk to him again about this}, loneliness, lack of energy, sleeping too much, worry, stress over money, fear of not having enough to pay my bills, introspection at what it is about me that does not endear myself to anyone....any one person.  and the one person who could stand me has died.

i wrote that my brother died, and not one comment, no reaching out, not one, "i'm sorry for the loss."  grief again magnified by not being good enough for him and not even a {{hug}}.  and in real life?  "can you work?"  yes, of course.  i will work.  i am working.  i will always work.  if i don't show up for work, either my child has died or i have died or a meteor has hit the earth.

maybe if my body didn't hurt so much, physical pain, i could rise above this. 

i feel like i am fading away and .......

only my two children will know.

if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear, does it make a sound?

if a person is abandoned, ignored, forgotten, let behind, is she really there?

i hope he remembers me.  i hope he still loves me.  i think God knows i'm here, if only to see if i need to be punished for being bad.  hope slipping away is a little like losing faith.

fading, fading a bit more, maybe not writing anymore, i don't know anymore since i don't plan anything anymore, pulling back and in, not reaching out to get forgotten or dumped as in the past, fading,

                            fading,

                                                        fading away until....

                                         gone.

what death takes away...

i have to be honest with myself, and since this is my place, i am going to be honest here.

i am living as a quasi-hermit.  i go to work and deal with people all through my shift.  then i turn the smile off and get myself back to my place, shut the door, and check out of life.  i haven't had time to try and find any outside for me.  i am too tired.  i hurt too much.  i sit and work on my other job.  i sit and sew for someone else.  my daughter checks in every day; my son checks in every other day.  but i see no one else.

i do not have a friend to talk to.  i have given up finding a counselor.  i have tried so many times and they all leave.  i am the common denominator so it has to be me.  i am not someone to be friends with.

and yet, at work, i can pull it off.  strangers adore me.  i make people laugh.  i relate to them and pull them out of themselves.  i can get someone to spill their secrets inside of 30 seconds and then give them a heart ceremony to remember forever, to bring them back to me at the store time and time again and ask for me.  i cannot get someone to stay in my life as a friend for longer than a couple of months.  duration?  do i wear people out?  is that what happened to my Dragon?  did he wear out?

i've hit a road block in the journey.  i need him back to talk to me.  i haven't told anyone, well, one person i told, actually told in an email.  this road block is a big deal to me and i don't know what to do with it.

my brother died.

yeah, i was once someone's sister.  and he abandoned me because i didn't have money to give him to help him pay for his twins' college tuition.  i just didn't have it and he got mad.  he stopped speaking to me.  when i lost my Dragon, he hung up on me.  almost 2 weeks ago, my sister-in-law emailed me to call her. i called.  my brother had died.  he had not wanted to have contact with me, even while knowing he was going to die.  i was not worth it.

my sister-in-law did not understand why my brother was so harsh.  she had encouraged him to get in touch with me.  she was very sorry, but, oddly enough she did not wish any further contact.  apparently she and my brother had marital troubles and she has a new boyfriend.  such is my life.

what death takes away

no man can restore.

truer words......

what death takes away, we can never have again.  we can never have answers to our questions.  we can never have an understanding of the relationship.  we can never find out what went wrong, or why, or how it could have gotten so far away from us.  and lastly, death takes away any chance at a resolution which, without that person, we may never find.

i need to talk to someone who loves me and can respond to me with clarity and logic.  my daughter called him an asshole.  my son, pretty much the same.  my Dragon would have walked over to me and embraced me while i cried.  he would have let me talk, vent, rage about the insane injustice, about the wasted years.  and then he, in that low gentle voice of his, he would have gone over why the failure was not my fault.  he would have held me and caressed my hair.  he would have let me taken the time to grieve; to talk about it over and over until i accepted that there will never be a resolution to this.

friend/grief counselor/brother ~ i wish i knew why and how i was so dispensable.

i did ask my doctor about my melancholia/depression.  he asked me some very hard questions.  he said he felt i had a healthy view of my husband's death and of my life since.  he said i was logical, rational, and taking care of myself.  i am holding down a job in which i got a promotion in record time.  he said i had a deep bond with my husband.  he said that it was not unheard of but rare enough to make people wonder at it.  he admitted to me that i probably would not ever be effervescently gleeful again, but then few people really are and to not worry.  bottom line, i do not need medication. i am handling my grief appropriately.  he said to keep writing about what moves me.  he believes it is best that i continue finding time to be creative in whatever medium i need to ~ writing, photography, sewing, etc.  i told him i always would.  i will always miss my Dragon.  it has been 3 years, 4 months.  time has not dimmed the ache.

i saw this series of pictures of a male bird trying to revive his mate.  the photographer who sat and took the pictures said the male waited beside his mate for hours crying, calling, nudging her.  hours.  the intensely interested photographer said he waited and watched.  the male finally flew away but within 20 minutes had returned and protected his mate from anyone who walked too closely to her.  the photographer wrote that he finally braved the pecking and picked up the little female and buried her at the base of a tree.  the male flew up and waited for him to finish and step away, then he flew back down to sit on the ground beside the freshly overturned dirt.  the photographer left and came back the next day.  the little bird was still there but with fresh bread crumbs having been thrown at him by passersby.  people has seen and knew what had happened.  the photographer returned everyday for two weeks.  popcorn, bread crumbs, and even a little pan of water had been left for the male bird.  everyone was trying to comfort and offer their support for the tiny creature.  he continued to sit there beside the little grave of his dead mate.  people stood and watched him, and talked.  no one had seen him fly anymore.  dogs were kept away when walking past so as not to stress him further.  finally, one day, the photographer did not see the male sitting there.  the pan of water was gone but in its place was another fresh pile of dirt that had been overturned.  a small popsicle cross was in the dirt between the two mounds.  written on it was "together forever."

the male bird stayed with his dead mate for two weeks.  that is a long time for an animal that most people claim does not have a soul, does not even have feelings, to grieve and mourn.  it was also a remarkable testament to the average, everyday person to notice something extraordinary in nature.  no one tried to get the male to move on.  they did encourage him to take care of himself.  how the male bird passed is a mystery to the photographer and now to me, and you.  but his remains were taken care of respectfully.

i don't sit beside my Dragon's urn.  i don't sit and mourn, cry, and not go out.  i work.  i laugh.  i try very hard to endear myself to strangers.  strangers are all that like me well enough.  i am fantastic, intelligent, wonderful, incredible in small doses.  but for the long haul, only my Dragon.

only my Dragon.

only my Dragon.

what death takes away..........

the further away the tides of time take me from the sound of his voice, and the warmth of his touch, i have to be honest and say, i have no earthly clue why he loved me.  and now, i never will.

outside

there was a comment left on my last posting, one about finding love.  and she knows there will never be anyone but my Dragon.  no, she wrote to me about finding my love of life again.

i used to love life so much; the moon, the sky, dogs walking along the road or the beach on some private doggy agenda, seeing the gulls fly overhead, standing on a bluff overlooking Gloucester Harbor on a frigid New Year's Day watching a dory sail safely home with a huge Nor'easter on his stern.

i used to love life so much.  there are the wonderful smells of fresh flowers and fresh salt air, and horses, friendly horses who love to have their manes finger-combed and their ears scratched, and kisses put on the velvety end of their noses.

but i need to get outside.  the things that make me happy, that make my soul sing are all outside.  i don't like shopping.  i don't care that much about going to the movies.  dining out is nice but it doesn't make me feel alive.  it doesn't make my heart feel any joy.  walks do.  long walks around places that have spirit, natural beauty; place where others have found some kind of meaning to life.....

there are little public parks and walkways around here but they bustle with runners and joggers and are filled with smoke.  yeah, a lot of the runners and joggers here smoke, or chew and spit.  there's tobacco juice stains all around the paths.  that odor rising in the heat doesn't lend itself to meditation.

but i saw a touch of beauty yesterday morning while making that long drive to work.  it gets a little bit rural and there are stands of trees.  the morning sky had low clouds from heavy rains the night before but they were lifting with the sun.  and i saw fog, or clouds......wisps of white moisture rising to the sky like spirits on their way home.

they glistened and shined and swirled like gentle whirlwinds.  and i swear that one of them, for a moment, looked like a dragon.  the whole scene was ethereally beautiful.  they thinned out as they climbed to the sky and then disappeared into the Heavens.  i was in awe and wished i had had my camera.  but i know i will remember this bit of visual magic and mystery for a long time.

this vision and what someone wrote to me about maybe finding my love of life again has me knowing i need to find the outside again.  i need to find a place where i can be away from people.  i want to walk and be with the things that are free and simple and naturally beautiful.

grief has almost killed me.  his death has left me staggering under the weight of knowing i'll never have him back again.  but nature is still out there.  the outside is still there waiting for me.  i'm going to go outside and find it.

and who knows, maybe i'll feel my Dragon's love better with a freer mind.

Brokedown Bunny

i have pneumonia again. and they say i also have high blood pressure that has gone untreated. i am desperately working on health insurance. i think i can get it through work. i talk to my boss tomorrow evening. please cross your fingers. otherwise i will have to find a plan i can afford before the 30 allotment of pills i do have run out.

desperation. depression. fighting against the choking waves of panic that are ebbing around me. i am scared. i find control. then i am scared again. the battle rages.

i am broken down.

"if i lived closer...."

i have written it to others who are having a hard time. it has been written to me.

i do wish there was some kind of leper colony, some kind of widow{er} community center where a widow{er} can go for help, for conversation, for company. somewhere one can go where they understand you without you having to try and talk through the sobs. where people will hold your hand and comfort you when you are afraid or so lonely you want to crawl in a corner and suck on your hair.

alas, the ones who do talk to me are miles and miles away. i write out what i feel and think here and then hit "publish." and i wait. lonely. pathetic. sad little brokedown Bunny.

i do have a new shirt i made for her. small pleasures. i take them where i can find them.

trying it on she found a little smile.

i'll get the insurance somehow. i'll get the pills. my children and i are working on this together. somehow, whatever will be will be. i'll keep crawling. i'll keep working. i'll keep sewing. but oh, Lord, right now, i am such a broken down Bunny. so lost without him to talk to. so lost without him to comfort me. so lost without him to lean on.

"but oh, the things i learned from her // when sorrow walked with me."

i have learned a lot from all this trouble. i have learned so much.

naming what i feel

i do not know what this is that i am feeling.

i am grateful for my job. i want to and need to keep it year round.

i am grateful for my children. they are grown and do not need me though; not like they did when they were small.

i sew for others. i am grateful to be able to do this. maybe i will be remembered when i am gone. or the idea of me will be remembered.

i feel trapped though. i feel crushed and surrounded by grief and worry.

i feel like i do not have enough time left and yet i cannot define what i really mean by that.

i miss him. my Dragon had brought me back to life. i only existed for such a long, long time.

i had created the ideas of fantasy and dreams, wishes and hopes for my children. i wanted them to have lives. then i met my Dragon and a world opened to me. we had dreams and love. we had hopes and love. we had plans and our love for each other.

and they all died with him. everything died with him.

i am treading water carrying sorrow and doubt and worry and stress. will there ever be less of those things? will i ever feel the pressure leave my chest?

is this despair? what is this that i am feeling? i honestly do not know. is this normal? 22 months on Thursday. "{despair is} the worst betrayal, the coldest seduction: to believe at last that the enemy will prevail." ~ M. Piercy. who is my enemy? myself and my inability to get control of my grief and worry over money? death who took my lovely Dragon away? my mother who trained me to be submissive? Voldemort who tried to convince me i was not worth loving? who is my enemy?

all i know is lately, i wake up sobbing. i go to bed more exhausted than ever before. i am drained of every bit of energy i started the day with which was precious little.

something has happened that i cannot speak about, but my Christmas is ruined. i hurt so much over it. i have been writing in my journal for a couple of months about it, but i find it is not enough. i want to scream outside somewhere. i want to raise my fist and scream in anger at the universe that sets these things up like this. haven't i suffered enough? you want more from me? what's left? what do i have left that i am not supposed to have? i am pretty low right now. i have been stripped of so much already and i really did not have that much to start with.

i had my little Dragon Christmas tree decorated. i am considering taking the lights off so that i am not tormented with having them there but not turning them on to save on the electric bill. but then the Whos of Whoville had all their decorations taken away and celebrated anyway. am i any less a Who? people do not know Who i am. all they know of me is the brief time we have spent together, either online, on the phone, or some time in person which has not been long. i have no long time friends. only people who have known me since my Dragon died. so if i take down the lights i hesitate to turn on, will i be any less a Who? will i regret not having them there for the one moment i may want to see them on for a few minutes?

see the abstract queries my mind plagues me with? i do not need this.

oh, please, stop. please just let me be. i am not asking for anything. the only thing i am asking for is this job to stay permanent so i can pay rent and eat. two things that a lot of people take for granted as is their right. have a roof and eating is not really a right. it can be a luxury for some people. fighting for it, working so hard for it, and then to have something else happen to ruin Christmas.

i want my Dragon. i would not balk at the ride ending so i can go to where he is waiting. there is so much pain here.

wouldn't it be nice to imagine Beach Bunny closing her eyes and then her soul opens to seeing him drawing in the sand on a beach somewhere in Heaven? he is obviously waiting for his Bunny. he still loves her.

it is a better vision than the nightmares i have been having the last almost 3 weeks. in all the dreams the locations are different. the set up is different. but the plot is the same. i am searching for my Dragon and i just miss him, or he is not there, or has moved on and i am too late. i startle awake and then i sob. i cry for upwards of half an hour. exhausted, i fall back asleep. is this despair? or is this simply being close to but not quite at 2 year?

22 months on Thursday. a ruined Christmas. fear. stress. worry. waning energy. insomnia. deep intense grief. i am coping as best as i can. i keep up the pretense at work. i crumple back here at the apartment. i make as many people happy as i can. i have not and will not give up.

but i do not know what this is that i am feeling. i do not have a name for it. i am in pain. my soul is in anguish.

and the only one who can give me comfort, the only one who ever loved me, is in this urn.

the Great Mobius Strip of Grief

my Internet went down on Sunday at 10 AM. right in the middle of my iChat with my son, our images froze onscreen. we finished our talk on the cells. technology is the double-edged sword of our lives. when it works it is wonderful. i can see my son who lives 8 hours away. when it turns on us, it is frustrating and even alienating. practically all of our contact is done online to even get to face-to-face. emails. tweets. texts. "meet me?" "can i come over?" i like to hear voices. i like to see faces. i do not have the money for a phone that is connected to the web like that. my cell is only for my children since we are all AT&T. $1 a day if i use it. no charge for talking to another AT&T cell. pay for what you use.

someone was going to call me Sunday. my magic jack plugs into the computer so with the Great 10AM Crash, i did not get the call. the repair man came at 7:30 last night and had to give me a new modem thingy that sits on the floor and blinks at me. so i am up.

i worked yesterday. i worked Saturday and Black Friday. i really like the job. the managers all say they like me and do not see any real reason why i would not be asked to stay on after the holidays. and then yesterday the 4th and final manager in line had her things to say. it made me apprehensive and between all of you and me, i do not need anymore stress and anxiety in my life.

she said, "before you i was the oldest but i told {the head manager} that it was okay."

i was not sure how to respond to that. then she got a little peeved that i was helping a customer and did not break away to answer the phone. "you can answer the phone, you know. here's what you say. i know you were with someone but you can answer the phone." she was idle. i had thought she would get the phone. with every customer i offer the sounds that can go into the toy. at the end of my shift she evaluated me and said, "you need to offer sounds." i told her i did to every customer. she ignored me and wrote it down as a critique. she asked how i liked working there. i told her i loved it and wanted to work hard to be able to stay beyond season. the other 3 managers had responded positively. she responded with, "well, you never know. i mean we may ask someone to stay on. we'll have to see how you work out."

my face felt hot. my head felt like it was going to explode. i simply smiled what i call a Mona Lisa smile. it was proper. it was in place. behind it was a mystery as to what i was truly feeling with her words ringing in my brain.

in this economy, knowing you are talking to a widow, knowing how hard things can be even for people who have a partner and two incomes, having your job threatened while you are a recent hire and still learning is cruel. cruel. mean. heartless. bullying.

then she turns it around and asks about my textile art and grief and the heritage behind my last name. "how do you pronounce it?" "what heritage?" i have no idea where i stand with this woman. i am on guard and on alert. i am also not on the schedule until Sunday. and then i only work 4 days that week. i need hours. hours. hours of work. but i am using this week to finish up the quilt that is due before Christmas.

Christmas is coming again,

without him

but this time i am wide awake.

i hear the bells, the songs,

without him

and at times my composure breaks.

i bought myself little star lights

without him

and i put them on my Dragon tree.

the tree he bought grew tall

without him

and the only one to decorate it is me.

i stood and cried by his tree

without him

i cried as i strung the lights.

Christmas is coming again

without him,

and nothing will ever feel right,

ever again....

without him.

i wish i could run to his arms and stay there. i want him to hold me and protect me, or at least spell me, from life's little cruelties. he was so great for letting me sit cuddled up to him and talk. he was so great for talking to me and easing my woes. he used humor. he used his ineffable {sacred} lightness that was part of who he was to comfort me. he surrounded me with his love.

i am facing the holidays and the start of the new year outside the fog of the first year and a half. the sleeping widow has woken up and she is crushed under the weight of reality. i want to go back into the fog and the numbness and bumble around. i do not want to think. i do not want to do anything but ............. i do not even know what i want to do anymore. i feel so overwhelmed with anxiety, panic, fears of one woman making me lose my job, not getting to keep the job, how long will my life without him be, a myriad of questions for which there is no answer, or no easy answer.

i really need him which is stupid funny because i need him because his death makes me need him more. i always needed him before simply because he made me so damn happy. yes, me happy. Bunny was happy once. but his death is so hard and i need him to help me get through it so it is a paradox of sorts. it is so simple a thought that is becomes complex; the Great Mobius Strip of Grief.

my Dragon and i were scrounging for shells and small pieces of driftwood along the beach one day when a man walked up, a tourist during the season. he introduced himself and said he was an early riser like we were and saw us out all the time and that we were always holding hands. my Dragon introduced us and referred to me as his "lovely bride." the man said jokingly, "So you love her as much as the day you married her, huh?"

and my Dragon said, "No." my Dragon looked at me and reached for my hand. he smiled enigmatically and said, "i love her more and more with each passing day. we're growing old together so our love is growing." then he looked back at the man and said, "that's how it is for us. every day. more and more."

and that's how it still is. even though his spirit has transcended to another place, i love him more and more. every day. more and more. Angel Bunny pining for her absent Dragon.

Bunny cries

i like that quote i put under the picture of Bunny crying. i read it the other night late. way too very late.

"that was the night they promised to be together through everything, each to care for the other when old and gray. a lovers' pact, the most likely to last. ~ Krista J. Mikula

we had many nights like that, promising each other things we had no business promising. but when you love, you promised the moon and the stars. sadly, he did give me one of those things. he gave me the moon.
i am hurting so much more than i did last year, my first Christmas. it was still less than a year and i was still so numb. i cry so often now in the apartment. people think i am doing well, but i am not. what they see is a mask of coping with living day-to-day.

my children are thrilled with my job but for different reasons than i am. they want me to be out. they want me engaged in life. they want me to be talking to people and interacting with the world outside my door. i am grateful for the job. i am grateful that it is in a toy store. i am grateful for the paycheck. i am trying to find that balance of grieving for my Dragon and the joy i am supposed to be what? searching for? working for? walking towards?

i am depressed. i know it. there is nothing i can do about it except wake up, get up, get to work, whichever job is on the schedule first, then do the other job. and all i can do is cross my fingers it will be enough. i am getting more and more tired even though i am grateful for the job. please do not misunderstand. i am on my knees grateful for that job. i am just getting tired. i need to build myself up to this amount of work and this even smaller amount of sleep. the insomnia i already have with this new narrow window of time to try and find it in is killing me.

Bunny goes with me. i wish i could take Dragon but he was a special collector's edition and they do not sell him anymore. so Bunny goes with me in her elf costume and she rides in her back pack on my back. see the little patchwork purse hanging from the beads? that is my purse that i clip to the belt loop of my pants and have in my pocket so i do not have to have a purse in a locker in the back. i made it last night after i got home while i watched the Peanuts special on television.

yeah, i know. big f***ing deal. she made a tiny purse for her driver's license that she never needs because she does not own a car. and my debit card in case of emergency that drains a bank account that is only in the double digits. *sigh* so much stress, and it would all level out if he could be here with me. if he could hold me and tell me we will get through this. all i ever needed was my Dragon. i never wanted a castle. i never wanted to be wealthy. i only wanted just enough to make ends meet and be with my Dragon.

i love him. i feel nothing but emptiness.

"i would not wish any companion in the world but you." ~ Shakespeare

"so dear i love him that with him, all deaths i could endure. without him, live no life." ~ Shakespeare

off to work now. then back here to work. and missing my Dragon. and try to find some kind of balance. i am struggling. i guess that's all i wanted to say.

my birthday thoughts

if you are reading my words and are among us who mourn your spouse/fiancee, there is nothing i can tell you that you do not already know.

if you are here reading and have never known such a tragedy, there is nothing i can tell you either for there is no way to prepare.

my birthday is Saturday, the 16th, the first since my Dragon's death. i feel a wave of depression coming on that i do not know how i will handle, but probably i will not say anything. i mean what's the point. most of you reading here understand. so i will do something different, something to argue with the cold that lives inside me. i want you to meet my Dragon.

i know. you've read about him, BUT, you haven't been introduced to him. you only know him as my hero. let me introduce you to the man.

he hated having his picture taken. he was wanted in several countries for patriotic actions against said country and having his picture taken went against the grain. he never got a tattoo for the same reason though he let me paint a dragon on him once. that was a fun night.

he was my height which made kissing him and dancing with him in the sand perfect. he had big shoulders and thick muscles. his back even had muscles. his legs were tree trunks but speaking as an artist, he was perfectly proportioned.

i could wear his shoes but he could not wear mine.

he loved black coffee but being a Marine that kind of goes without saying. Rule #23. Never mess with a Marine's coffee if you want to live.

his favorite color was brown until i showed him the color of the ocean before a fast moving squall when the sun was still out. "turbulent sea foam turquoise-y green." (i reserve all rights and privileges to the use of that color name though i don't think Crayola will ever be upset or make a crayola long enough to stamp it on the sleeve.)

i was the only one who could tell him to do something and forget to say please and thank you but i never forgot and he appreciated that. he never "told" me to do anything. he asked sweetly and we did it together.

he wasn't afraid of anything and i had to be careful not to dare him to do anything i didn't want to see him do. he'd do anything.

he never thought it was odd that my relaxation reading was theoretical physics.

he could figure a way out of anything and contrary to popular myths about dragons and Marines, his first thoughts didn't involve violence. but he knew how to do that if it meant saving his men, his country, or his family.

he wasn't afraid of the dark or heights. for training once, they had him do a HALO dive after midnight landing on the deck of a darkened ship in the middle of the ocean. i asked him if he was scared and he said no. he said he'd been more scared of me saying no to his marriage proposal than anything else he'd ever done.

he knew a lot about survival. he hated that guy Bear Grylls but respected Les Stroud, as long as his show didn't look faked.

he'd been in every country in the world except for eleven. i'd point out a country on the map and ask, "what did you do here?" once he said, "i walked through that one to get to this one." i smiled and teased, "did anyone see you?" he smiled and said, "no, because that would have been bad." he meant it. you always knew when he was serious, even if he was smiling.

he loved the Marine Corps. he loved his country. Semper Fi.
he was the leader of his fire team. they got little ceramic skunks because they were always stuck with the "stinky" jobs.

he told me that he and his mom never admitted to each other that he'd been in Vietnam for even one tour much less three. she referred to it as that "time you were off with the Marines." her letters were addressed to California so he let her pretend he lived on base there.

he'd eat anything, cooked or raw. if it crawled, walked, swam, or flew, he had a recipe for it. he'd eat a lot of things raw, too. he said that when he was away from home, he usually wasn't in the tourist part of the country so he would find something to eat and keep it down. protein was protein. but he didn't mind that i was a picky eater. he called it an "endearing quirk." and he'd eat the sides i didn't like.

he didn't kill spiders or mice, etc. he'd catch them and set them free outside, and yes, he sometimes could catch a fly in the air. he never killed those either.

he loved old houses, history, the ocean, and John Wayne movies. so did i.

he loved going to bed early and not going directly to sleep. so did i.

when he found out that i collected rocks and shells and sand dollars, he started collecting them, too. he picked up every rock he ever found.

the day of his funeral, after it, when it was time for my daughter and i to drive away from my ocean forever, i took all my rocks and shells and sand dollars to our beach. it was Valentine's Day. it was my gift back to our beach since i don't think i will ever see it again. i set all my collected treasures free.

i kept his shells and sand dollars and rocks though. i put his bigger sand dollars in my grandfather's cufflink box. i covered some of his rocks to "protect" his fingerprints which i fully believe with all my heart are still on his rocks.

he finally grew to accept that i adored the ground he walked on. i never thought he was a monster. his ex-wife learned what he did and screamed at him. she called him a murderer. that's why she divorced him. he was a terrible, evil person as far as she was concerned. he'd been divorced for 12 years when we met. i thought he was a patriot. i thought his eyes looked closed off. i wanted to make his eyes smile so i made it my sole purpose in life to let him know that his ex-wife was just a person, one person, and that she was wrong.

i told him i loved him every day, several times a day because i thought he was just so cool. he always blushed.
when he got a call, picked up his go bag to leave, i never cried. i kissed him and told him to be careful. he said he was proud of me for not crying in front of him but he knew i was scared for him and cried while he was gone. when he would come home, it would take me two weeks to stop smiling. i held his hand all the time. i would sit in his lap, on the floor at his feet asking his questions, letting him talk it out, or i would sit scrunched up against his side. he loved that i would do that.

the day my ex-husband met my Dragon, he had dropped my son off from taking him out to supper. my ex was upset about something and called me out to the driveway. to make his point he grabbed my hand and bent it back in a way that physiology and nature did not intend it to go. it was just what he did and i never showed emotion or he'd get too excited. if i waited him out, he would stop and let go. but my Dragon didn't think i needed to wait like that. my Dragon came out and said in a voice that was low and soft and devoid of emotion, "release her." when my ex did, my Dragon slapped my ex with an open hand. the crack was very loud. louder than they ever show on television when someone does that. my ex fell on top of the hood of his car. my Dragon leaned over him and said, "if you ever touch her or her children again, i will come into your home and wake you up. mine will be the last face you see. i know how to do it. it's what they trained me for and i have to tell you that for you, my moral compass would bend way back, as far back as you had her hand. that means that for you, i would enjoy it."

my ex has never touched me or either of my children. i still ask though since my son has elected himself as the ambassador to keep the peace. he still goes to see his father but only, as he says, "you keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

i never saw my Dragon threaten anyone before that or after that. it was a side he didn't let me see. he was upset that i saw it that time, but i told him, "i know you only use your powers for good." he hugged me. it was a turning point for us. he believed i was in his life to release him of his demons. he said, "because you love me, i'll find absolution." i cried behind his back because it hurt me so much that he felt that way about himself.

he thought it was funny that i don't care for diamonds. but he wanted me to have one so he found the ring you see below. the diamond is very tiny. it's called a "pinpoint of light." it made him think of a star in the sky. it's my engagement ring. the other band is my wedding ring. it has "love always" engraved in it. i've taken the set off twice since he gave them to me. the first time was when i sat beside his body in the hospital after they told me he was dead. i took the ring off and turned the heart that he had facing out towards him, back towards me. my heart is his. it is not for anyone to feel is open to them in any way but a quiet friendship.

the second time i took my rings off was for this photo. so you could see how well he knew me and accepted my jewelry quirks. i put my rings back on before i uploaded the photo.
he taught me all i know about love.

he isn't here for my birthday. he died. i believe the world is a darker, colder, and less safe place because of that. i'm sure there is someone out there who has taken his place in the seedy, not tourist parts of the world, where things need to be done, but i think my Dragon was the best and most honorable. but that's me.

i miss him. terribly. and now with my birthday coming i feel a darkness rising up, threatening to make me hurt hard again. so i wanted to introduce you to the man i know. now i don't have to think too hard. i can come back here and read on Saturday when i need a fortress against the pain.

thank you for sticking with me. btw, i love him.

quitting the widow's group or the broken little boat that got away.

Once there was there was a little boat. She was an insignificant addition to the harbor of life but she had always thought there was a reason for her to have been built. One of those reasons had been to protect her oars. She had two of them, a beautiful daughter whose personality was like the sun breaking through a cloudy day. The other was a quietly handsome son who was introspective and reticent. His inner light shone more like a full moon. The little boat loved her little oars very, very much and she did all that she could to give them a safe life.

The little boat had gotten entangled with a bigger boat and she had been very much afraid. She had tried and tried to cut the lines but the skipper of the bigger boat had always kept a close eye on her. She and her little oars had been dragged hard through the bigger boat’s wake until she almost drowned. But she had been a smart little boat. She had come to learn human nature so she kept her little oars drawn down inside close to her heart, and she had waited. She waited until the skipper of the bigger boats had been lulled into complacency by her submissiveness.

It culminated one dark night with a fateful decision. Her little oars were ready to move on to boats of their own picking. She knew she wouldn’t be able to be left alone with the bigger boat. Once her little oars were on their way, there would be nothing for the little boat to fight for, except herself, and she’d lost most of herself by throwing bits and pieces into the motor blades of the bigger boat to distract him from her oars.

She reached up and cut the lines. Quietly, fearfully, and with much screaming from the bigger boat, the little boat drifted away. She drew her lines in and coiled them tightly in her bottom. She watched the currents and tides and kept herself floating between the bigger boat when he went after her little oars. She plied the waters that way never believing anyone would want her or help her, or even notice that a little boat was fighting for her very survival.

Then one day a tugboat noticed. He wasn’t as large or as grand as the bigger boat that tormented her so, but he was strong. Tugboats can pull many times their weight and have such raw power that other boats fear a run in with one. The tugboat cautiously approached the little boat and asked her if he could help her; just help a little. On the edge of exhaustion, the little boat loosened her lines enough for the mighty tugboat to pull her out of harm’s way. Then gently he gave her back her line.

In this way the little boat learned to trust the tugboat and the tugboat fell in love with the little boat. He stayed alongside her, keeping himself between her and the big boat, letting his powerful engine roar with rage if the big boat tried to interfere with the little boat’s life. He protected her and her little oars, often pulling her to go see them in their new boats, to sit and listen to their stories of where they were going and the entire world they were seeing.

The tugboat liked seeing the little boat smile. He knew it had been a long time since she had been able to feel safe. He wanted to give her the simple life for her that she had always dreamed of and he wanted to be a part of her life forever.

In turn the little boat fell deeply in love with the tugboat. She loved his strong hull and his powerful voice that was never loud towards her. She loved looking up into his wheelhouse windows and seeing his beautiful soul. She got him to tell her stories of his life and, just as he’d helped her, she helped him breathe slowly and deeply. She helped him understand that though he’d had some ugly jobs in the past, he was a hero to those he’d saved from the awful storms of life.

One night, as a full moon cast it’s silvery light over the little boat as she snuggled close to the hull of her handsome tugboat, she heard his engine cough. He coughed again, and again. Try as she might the little boat couldn’t get the tugboat to stop making the awful sounds. She bumped his side over and over but his engine was failing. Sounding a mayday over and over, and over and over until she was hoarse, the little boat kept trying to revive her strong handsome tugboat, to no avail.

When the Coast Guard got there, all they could do was tow him in. He was gone from her. His engine could not be rebuilt. There was too much damage. He’d worked so hard all his life doing bad, dirty jobs that had taken their toll on him. And now the little boat was adrift on a sea of inconsolable sorrow.

She called out to her daughter who was living on a boat in a different place. It was a landlocked place where so much seemed strange. The little boat allowed herself to be trailered there so she could at least be close to her daughter oar. She was so sad and lonely. She tried going to a group where other little boats had lost their mates but she wasn't important enough to warrant keeping up with. She felt like a failure.

The little boat tried and tried to get involved but, landlocked as she was, it was hard for her to get around. She tried talking but no one was listening. She tried being a part of things but even if she got there, no one really talked to her. The little boat never felt like she fit in. She wasn’t as young as some of the other boats. Her oars were grown up and out on their own so her life wasn’t comparable. But she also wasn’t as old as some of the boats in another group. No, the little boat didn’t fit in anywhere.

She made things for all the other boats that asked her to and she thought she was onto something. But as the weeks passed, the little boat felt even less and less important. As the boats picked up what she made for them, they turned their backs and never called her again. They had what they wanted. For them, there was no reason to ever really speak to the little boat again. They had used her services, paid her. Now they didn’t have any reason to speak to her. They were all so busy with their friends and their work and the activities that they were involved in.

Once the little boat was asked to come to a party but she felt uncomfortable. It was on a day that she was missing her tugboat very much and she was crying a lot. The boat that asked her became offended and never called her again. The boat said that it was her own fault for giving in to her grief over her tugboat. It made the little boat sadder that she wasn’t allowed to feel sad for so great a tug.

Other boats were casually cruel to the little boat. Most likely they didn’t realize it because for every little hurt they did to her, they blamed their grief for forgetting her, or being late, or for not speaking to her. It was confusing that their hurtful behavior was excusable while her fear at being in a new place filled with strangers added to her deep depression over witnessing her tugboat’s life being torn from her was not acceptable.

Once she wrote to the important boat that facilitated the group meetings. She called her three times and left messages begging her to call back. But the important boat didn’t bother. The little boat was saddened.

She watched the important boat pursue contact with the other boats, was privy to inside knowledge that the important boat actively reached out to the others, even met with them outside the group for private grief counseling, but could not find it in herself to reach out to the little boat. Was she wrong in her belief? The little boat was in no position to judge. She was too tired. She was too sad. It was hard for her to see the reality of anything anymore, except the reality that she was alone with no visitors except her little oars who worriedly came by as often as they could.

One other boat did call occasionally but she called for herself. She needed to talk and the little boat was a very good listener. Other than that, she was very, very alone.

So the little boat stopped going to the group meetings. She beached herself beside an ocean in her mind and she lay there. She let the rough grasses grow up around her until she was quite covered. If anyone happened by and spotted her, she smiled her small little smile but it never reached her eyes. Never.

She dreamed of her tug on two occasions, night and day. She lay there and waited for the full moon to rise up over the horizon of her pretend ocean. She’d watch it with a silence that was like watching a cloister take Communion. Her little hull gleamed dully white, like old bone, in the moonlight. Her heart ached for she had weathered badly being so exposed. She sometimes wondered what her wonderful, handsome tug would think about what had become of her.

Besides quitting the widow’s group, the little boat also quit going out unless it was absolutely necessary. When she left, she carried with her, hung on her bow, a precious glass pendant of blue as deep as the darkest night and capped with silver made to look like a moon and star. Inside it she carried a small bit of the ashes that her beautiful tugboat had become. She was never gone from her imaginary beach for long because to be gone would mean to be away from her dreams of him.

So she’d hurry back and nestle herself down into the pretend sand and let the grasses flow over her to hide her. She sometimes smiled to herself about that because really, no one was looking for her. She didn’t matter to anyone except to her little oars who knew she was forever changed and did all they could to help her find a small amount of peace. But the only one who could revive the little boat was gone. So she lay with her dreams of him, her sadness over his tragic death, and her aloneness that she resigned herself.

It seemed to her that her empty berth at the meetings went unnoticed because no one checked to see if she was okay. She had been born an insignificant little boat and only her oars and her magnificent tug had ever seen any value in her.

But in that thought there was some solace. Her oars were wonderful and were living honorable lives. And to have been loved by such a strong, handsome, and legendary tugboat was more than she had ever expected from this life she had been made for.

And then it hit her. Maybe to be there for him, to be the consort of that incredible tugboat, was what she’d been designed for. It was what she had gone through hell for, to be with him. It was her blessing to be the one there for him at his end, telling him over and over every day they were together how much she loved him and how proud she was of him. It was the love in her voice he heard as he died. It was her hull against his that he felt when all the feeling in this life stopped for him. She had been built to be with the tug whose life was mythic and who had, more than anyone, needed the love and devotion of an insignificant little boat.