Everyone who has ever lost anyone they loved says this, so it must be true. I hope I will come back and read this one day, and I won't remember how much it hurts.
I have several hours a day when life goes on like normal. I can enjoy reading emails or cards from people and even enjoy getting paperwork in order. I enjoyed a good visit from Emily yesterday afternoon and 30 minutes at the park today with all 3 girls.
I enjoy it, but then I need to come home. Distraction works only for a little while.
Staying around people or staying somewhere else doesn't help right now. When this grief comes, it just washes over me, and I feel like nothing will ever be right in my world again. It is just as strong in a crowd of people as it is all by myself. Even though I KNOW I won't feel this way forever, it's hard to convince myself otherwise.
Just now I was doing okay. After seeing an email about a birthday freebie from Starbucks and a link to other freebies, I thought I would entertain myself by thinking about what I could do next week when that unwelcome birthday comes around. The list didn't impress me, and I didn't want anything on it, mostly ice cream and desserts, but then staring me right in the face was a Nothing Bundt Cakes coupon. Besides being a cute name, it brought back a memory so sharp it took my breath away. Just a small thing but something I remembered.
One day last spring, Emily and I went into Target while Mike waited in the car with his crossword puzzle. Target was not his kind of store until he found out he could sit in there and drink coffee and wait for us, but he hadn't discovered that yet. When we came out, there was a little bundtlet, or whatever they're called, waiting for us, one for each of us. They were cute and good, and while I'm sure we thanked him and gushed over them, I couldn't possibly know what pain that little act would cause me months later.
It was just like him to sit there in the car and see the store, which he had commented on many times before, loving the play on words, and decide he would do something for us. Just like he always did - doing something for someone else. It never occurred to him to get himself one. He just wanted us to have one.
It's so scary and so lonely to realize that I will not have that again - someone who just spent time thinking about what I liked and what he could do for me. And not just me - anyone he cared for. It leaves a big ache in my heart, and I know it sounds selfish, but I got used to that, and it's hard to know it's gone. I will smile when these memories come one day, and I will look back at the way I feel today and forget that feeling. Maybe.
So many people have helped me this past week, and I am going to dwell on that tomorrow, but right now I'm going to make a pot of coffee, even if it is 5:00 p.m., and find a mindless comedy on Netflix to watch, preferably something old with Doris Day or Maggie Smith.
And thank God for the 55 years of happiness I did have. I just didn't realize how happy I was until it was taken away.