Last night my wonderful friends in CAPS, our writing group, reminded me of how long it’s been since I’ve worked on my book. Over two years.
“Start in again with your creative nonfiction. That’s so easy for you and you’re so good at it. Write a blog.”
“We’ll see,” I replied. “I just don’t have any words.”
So a little bit ago, after checking my email and surfing the seas of Facebook where I checked into local events that I was “Interested” in, knowing I’d never go, I decided not to follow the rabbit trail to Tri-Peaks Solitaire or Hit It Rich Casino games like I usually do. I thought, “Let’s be a brave grown-up and check into WordPress to see if we can get any words down.”
I had to look up my username and password. I discovered my last post was June of 2018 the month after my son, our son and our daughter’s brother died. My heart broke all over again. I read the last two posts, tormenting my soul, my heart, my memories. The nightmares. The exhaustion. The fear. The hopelessness of never seeing his smile, hearing his voice, or enjoying the kitchen with him. Loving his ‘ways’. Getting his amazing hugs.
That’s all gone.
I look for signs. Lights flickering. Dimes. Pennies. Anything.
All I get are tears.
So here I am, tears streaming down my face wondering what you want to read. Maybe you want to know how we’re doing. I’ll share. The holidays sucked. Truth. No sugarcoating it. Not entirely but we couldn’t wait for them to be over. They were the hardest ever. Also, I’m on medication since summer for depression. Or maybe it was fall. Who knows?
In June it took me three days to make one pie. (It was inedible except for sweet Jack who ate his piece)
I couldn’t complete —– a sentence.
I went into his room a lot and cried. Smelled the clothes in his closet, sat in the easy chair and stared out the window, looked at the ceiling knowing this was the place he left this world of ours on May 20th, as Terry and Gretchen, who held onto his hand, sat by his hospital bed. I walked in just after his last breath.
Going into his room always ended with me falling apart and breaking off more of my heart. So the three of us discussed painting the room. New paint like the main house. It helped. A lot. It’s a peaceful spot now and instead of Niagara Falls, a tear or two will drop from my chin. Or maybe three or four. We also painted and redecorated the bathroom Chris used. Terry was his caregiver when it came to the bathroom. It’s still hard for him to enter that room. (I wanted to find a shower curtain that would honor both our kids. Chris’ devotion was for the elephants and Gretchen’s is for birds. I found a shower curtain with both of these creatures on it and included it at the end of this entry)
Terry and Gretchen and I cry. We also laugh and talk to him all the time. Chris is throughout the house. Pictures, statues, and cremains… Yup. He’s also down the street in the Williamson Memorial Cemetery, and in the Pacific Ocean and on the beach where he flew kites. The top of MacKenzie Pass in Oregon has him on the roots of a young pine growing in a lava field. Scott Lake on top of that mountain where he biked and picnicked with friends has him scattered on the shore and in the lake. He’s also in pockets, on top of dressers and who knows where else. Glass stones with his cremains were gifted to us and we’ve passed some out to his friends and our family. A tree is planted with his cremains in our backyard. He’s everywhere. Truly.
Gretchen’s emotional release has been to shop online. CRY – DON’T BUY was our motto for her. She’s finally crying and has been wearing Chris’s clothes and hats. I love that.
Terry and I release tears together a lot. We hug a lot. Ter played golf this summer/fall and that helped him. His golfing buddies have been an amazing support system for him as have our friends from church and our writer’s groups.
We did do Gingerbread Houses with our grandkids this year. I’ve done them with our kids for decades and then the grandkids joined in. Chris always won the best gingerbread house contest. Until last year when he just couldn’t figure out what to do with the graham crackers and royal icing. Gretchen wasn’t up to it this year, but she agreed to be the judge of the best house. It was nice.
So… This is all I’ve got for now, which is a hellava lot more than I’ve had for the last six months.
Life. It does go on. As hard as that is sometimes, it’s important to get back into the game of living. One day at a time. Knowing people love and care for us makes it easier. We’ve been blessed with loving family and framily. Still.
Peace and joyous days to you and yours.
Thanks for the love.