I have been thinking about this for a long time--it seems like months and months, but that cannot be true. Maybe just thinking about something multiple times a day for a week or two makes it seem like months. Funny how thinking about something intensely feels like it has been along time.
The house is being sold. I listed it with an agent yesterday. Apparently, they are coming to take pictures on Friday. I walked around the house today and it looks good. I have moved some furniture and decluttered the "Diego" messes over the last couple of months. It will be ready for when they come with the camera on Friday. It is like people can peek into my inner cave--it must look good and tidy.
A couple of weeks ago, it felt like I was selling A's house. It has always been "our" house but it felt like I was selling his house---something that he owned alone.
I realized last night that this feeling was not really how I was feeling. I made a comment that it feels like I am selling his house---that is not true. I feel like I am selling our house, but I have not made such important decisions without A in over a decade. He is not here for me to ramble on and on about the pros and cons of selling the house. I can hear him-- Whatever you think is best... it is up to you... I would normally spend a week, re-hashing all important decisions and the answer would always be the same--- after a nausiating week he would say--- Damn it! It doesn't matter.... let's just do it!
I had the conversations with him, only in my mind.
I am selling our house. When I signed my name, I said a little prayer--- A, Sign here, right below my name, like you always have done. I handed the paper to the real estate agent, with just one signature.
I know he would have signed the paper too.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
But I am forever changed...
Why? Why do I feel like this?
My life was quiet, still. Calm.
It has been shaken up, like the vodka in a martini shaker. Shiny. Shaken. Harder. Shaken. Then splashed out into the glass. Here. Take it. Discarded.
The control was gone. I wish he would have asked me what he should have done. I would have used the logic, calmness in my mind. It certainly would not have been this. The answer was not a gun. It wasn’t even one of the options.
He didn’t make decisions very well. He usually looked to me for guidance, reassurance.
I still cannot understand how he could decide to shoot himself when he couldn’t decide what beer to drink at the bar, or what shirt to wear in the morning.
When I met him, my heart was full. I was happy. There was no space for him. It was supposed to be a fun night out. An occasional dinner. A friend with benefits.
His smile. Light touch. Playfulness. He made a special place in my heart. He forced himself into my heart and found some room for his presence. As the years passed, his space he made for himself got bigger and bigger. He began to consume me. After a decade together, my friend with benefits became my husband. The one I was supposed to grow old with. The one who I would love forever.
Now, there is just a hole. A big empty place in my heart. It is like a gashed wound that continues to bleed.
And now I am forever changed. Even though wounds eventually heal, scars remain.
My life was quiet, still. Calm.
It has been shaken up, like the vodka in a martini shaker. Shiny. Shaken. Harder. Shaken. Then splashed out into the glass. Here. Take it. Discarded.
The control was gone. I wish he would have asked me what he should have done. I would have used the logic, calmness in my mind. It certainly would not have been this. The answer was not a gun. It wasn’t even one of the options.
He didn’t make decisions very well. He usually looked to me for guidance, reassurance.
I still cannot understand how he could decide to shoot himself when he couldn’t decide what beer to drink at the bar, or what shirt to wear in the morning.
When I met him, my heart was full. I was happy. There was no space for him. It was supposed to be a fun night out. An occasional dinner. A friend with benefits.
His smile. Light touch. Playfulness. He made a special place in my heart. He forced himself into my heart and found some room for his presence. As the years passed, his space he made for himself got bigger and bigger. He began to consume me. After a decade together, my friend with benefits became my husband. The one I was supposed to grow old with. The one who I would love forever.
Now, there is just a hole. A big empty place in my heart. It is like a gashed wound that continues to bleed.
And now I am forever changed. Even though wounds eventually heal, scars remain.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The Q & A Session.
They keep asking the same question. Mostly from people who are concerned. Sometimes, I think they don’t know what to say. Maybe it is the second or third time they have seen me since the funeral.
How are you doing?
They want an answer this time. They really want me to say something. The days of saying “I will be ok.” are over. That was the line I came up with during the week A died. The lines and hugging would not stop. Everyone wanted to comfort me. They would say, sheepishly at first, “How are you doing?”
The first time I heard it I was not prepared. “How do you think I am doing?!”, I wanted to scream. That would have not been an appropriate response. Nor was it entirely fair. They were just concerned.
That is when I came up with the response, “I will be ok.”
It was comforting to hear myself say it. And, it made them feel better.
I could almost hear their thoughts: Whew! He will be ok. Good.
Now, when they ask, they want something better.
They have already seen this headline. They want something new, something fresh.
How are you?
Fuck. I still don’t know what to say.
I’m ok.
Things are getting better.
The nightmares don’t come everytime I fall asleep.
The mornings are really hard and I usually cry for an half an hour before getting out of bed.
I’m scared that for the first time in my life I don’t know what I want.
I’m anxious I can’t keep everything together.
Maybe I don’t know how I am doing…and that is why I can't answer when you ask.
How are you doing?
They want an answer this time. They really want me to say something. The days of saying “I will be ok.” are over. That was the line I came up with during the week A died. The lines and hugging would not stop. Everyone wanted to comfort me. They would say, sheepishly at first, “How are you doing?”
The first time I heard it I was not prepared. “How do you think I am doing?!”, I wanted to scream. That would have not been an appropriate response. Nor was it entirely fair. They were just concerned.
That is when I came up with the response, “I will be ok.”
It was comforting to hear myself say it. And, it made them feel better.
I could almost hear their thoughts: Whew! He will be ok. Good.
Now, when they ask, they want something better.
They have already seen this headline. They want something new, something fresh.
How are you?
Fuck. I still don’t know what to say.
I’m ok.
Things are getting better.
The nightmares don’t come everytime I fall asleep.
The mornings are really hard and I usually cry for an half an hour before getting out of bed.
I’m scared that for the first time in my life I don’t know what I want.
I’m anxious I can’t keep everything together.
Maybe I don’t know how I am doing…and that is why I can't answer when you ask.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Death Notice
November 6, 2008 at 4:48pm.
They arrived in suits. Dressed up---they looked like attorneys, but their suits were cheaper.
The police detectives told me at my office. It was just like an episode of Law and Order. They were each good-looking, young. They did not have any problem doing their job. They must have said the words over a hundred times.
“A” was dead. Killed himself. With a gun. In the woods.
I could not believe it. It was so unbelievable. Even a movie would have prepared the viewer. No one deserves to be so surprised. It was a Thursday afternoon I was getting ready to leave for the day. The last 15 minutes before five o‘clock. The last fifteen minutes where nothing really gets accomplished
I was planning to go to dinner with his brother at six.
It was a normal day until the police showed up.
Shocking. Horrifying.
I refused to sleep that night. All night I searched for pictures in the basement. Letters, memorabilia. Anything that should be accessible should people ask about him.
What was his favorite color? Where did he go to school? What sports did he play? What where his hobbies?
I was to memorize all of it. After eleven years together, you forget the details. You just know the person who holds you at night you love. He loves you and you love him.
The details are forgotten somehow. Now, they were going to ask. Everyone would want to know and I was going to be prepared.
For the first time in my life I would be the organized one. The one who knew where everything was. The one with lists. The one how could keep it together. The clean and neat one. I did not have a choice HE was dead and I was the one who was left ---alone.
It was going to be the best funeral ever. With flowers. Good food. Wine. A party. A celebration. Tears--yes---but mostly a big party to overfill the grandiose home we had together.
That was his word--grandiose. He loved this house.
Right now, it just feels empty.
November 6, 2008 at 4:48pm.
They arrived in suits. Dressed up---they looked like attorneys, but their suits were cheaper.
The police detectives told me at my office. It was just like an episode of Law and Order. They were each good-looking, young. They did not have any problem doing their job. They must have said the words over a hundred times.
“A” was dead. Killed himself. With a gun. In the woods.
I could not believe it. It was so unbelievable. Even a movie would have prepared the viewer. No one deserves to be so surprised. It was a Thursday afternoon I was getting ready to leave for the day. The last 15 minutes before five o‘clock. The last fifteen minutes where nothing really gets accomplished
I was planning to go to dinner with his brother at six.
It was a normal day until the police showed up.
Shocking. Horrifying.
I refused to sleep that night. All night I searched for pictures in the basement. Letters, memorabilia. Anything that should be accessible should people ask about him.
What was his favorite color? Where did he go to school? What sports did he play? What where his hobbies?
I was to memorize all of it. After eleven years together, you forget the details. You just know the person who holds you at night you love. He loves you and you love him.
The details are forgotten somehow. Now, they were going to ask. Everyone would want to know and I was going to be prepared.
For the first time in my life I would be the organized one. The one who knew where everything was. The one with lists. The one how could keep it together. The clean and neat one. I did not have a choice HE was dead and I was the one who was left ---alone.
It was going to be the best funeral ever. With flowers. Good food. Wine. A party. A celebration. Tears--yes---but mostly a big party to overfill the grandiose home we had together.
That was his word--grandiose. He loved this house.
Right now, it just feels empty.
Monday, January 5, 2009
California
Goleta,California.
That is where it was--near the airport in Santa Barbara....the County Park at the Beach. There was a changing room, picnic tables, those road side grills. The day was sunny,warm, 70 degrees. "A" loved the water---didn't care how cold it was. His brother said, :I want to swim one more time with "A". One more time, with my brother."
And that is what he did.
The ashes were cold---powdery. They didn't seem like anything. Just some dust. His mother said--what if I find a tooth in here? In a logical manner, I replied, " dont worry, they crush everything before they give it to you. It is fine. "
How bizaar. What a strange thing for a mother to say. The mother spread the ashes--scattered them from the bag like bird seed in the water. It felt strange watching her. Something that a
mother should not be doing.
There is nothing left but grainy dust. I also want to be cremated. It seems clean.
I had carried the urn and the ashes across the country--kept them in my room. I said good night to A. every night before the"final resting day." I no longer say goodnight before I go to sleep. He is having more fun then me.
His dad also swam. I was not sure if it was because N. was swiming with his brother. Or because Dad felt he also should go into the ocean.
It was so cold--the water. I couldn't hardly stand there in the surf, with my pants rolled up. My toes were blue when I left the water.
We had a sandwich, some wine--a picnic at the beach. I said I had to go to the bathroom. Really, all I wanted to do was cry by myself. I just wanted relief from being the "strong one". There was a model, getting photographed by changing room. She laughed and smiled for the camera.
My tears wouldn't stop.
We put his ashes in the water. His mother said "now he can go wherever he wants" It was true. He was free.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
'Tis New Year's Day--- a slight sore throat and many rambling thoughts through my head. The least important is that I want to go see Marley and Me today at the movies. I loved the book and maybe I can call a friend to go with me.
The way I see it, this blog should represent all of the rambling thoughts and stories in my head. It is hard to keep them all there and I am cautiously optimistic that this blog will become a great outlet for me.
Sometimes the road will be rocky---and sometimes comfortable---but, the journey is my own.
Maybe I will get better at building the blog website as I go along.
The way I see it, this blog should represent all of the rambling thoughts and stories in my head. It is hard to keep them all there and I am cautiously optimistic that this blog will become a great outlet for me.
Sometimes the road will be rocky---and sometimes comfortable---but, the journey is my own.
Maybe I will get better at building the blog website as I go along.
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