Being Sick

Being sick sucks.  There's nothing like going to bed perfectly fine, only to wake up feeling a little bit off - and then get progressively worse throughout the day - to remind one of the frailty of the human body.

And what do we want when we're sick?  That's right, someone to take of us.

Which leads me to my Friday night.  After a day of getting progressively worse was culminating in not being 100% sure I could walk down the hall, I found myself crying into my pillow on the couch, screaming like I haven't in... probably a year.  And I've had grief surges in the past year.

It was awful.  It was pathetic.  It reminds you exactly how much that person was always there for you.

And then, once you're cried out and no one's come running because, well, no one can hear you, you pull yourself together, manage to make it to bed, and sleep to another dawn.

And sometimes you forget...

3 years was a week and a half ago.

Tonight, I'm cleaning the kitchen with The Voice on.  I miss who Shakira chose and I automatically called into the living room, "Babe, who she'd choose?"

And it's been Three.F---ing.Years.

That's what it's like, Living Widowed.

What I appreciate the most

I read yesterday that it’s the things you loved the most and appreciated the most that you grieve and yearn for the most. 

I miss someone sitting with me on the deck, coming home to, coming home to me, planning dinner with, reviewing our days, going to the bar, laughing, watching hockey, trying new beers.

We were going to drive all over and try new breweries, get married in a park with a bbq theme, let me quit my job so I could spend more time with him and take care of him better.  Buy a house with a piece of land a little bit outside the city, so we could get a huge dog and he’d have room to roam, have bonfires in the backyard and sit on our deck out there, in the middle of nowhere, and look at all the extra stars we can’t see here.

We had plans, dreams.  As much as we just took life as it came (one of the things I loved best about him) we had somedays and eventuallys.  I can’t do any of those things without him – they’re things I wanted because of him, because I’d have someone to share it with, someone to laugh with me, have to put up with a massive dog because I loved him and wanted to see him happy.  None of it, none, is stuff I can do on my own, or want to do on my own.  It was doing it all with HIM that made it special.

What did I most appreciate about him?  That he allowed me – and even encouraged me – to do exactly what I wanted to do with my own life.  That so much of what we wanted coincided is the grace of God and spells out how much we were meant for each other.  With him, I could’ve worked parttime, kept up the house, and travelled around the state with him.  That’s the life, those are the dreams, that I miss the most.

Could I do it all with someone else?  Hypothetically, sure.  But like I just said, it was doing it all with HIM that made it special.  He, who knew what it was like to be the black sheep of the family, cast off their plans for him, and make his own life for himself.  He, who kept true to his values even if they weren’t the most popular.  The guy who at age 25 had already had a full life, given back to his community, his world, done things 99% of our population can’t handle.  The man who said “I want to do that” and made it happen, and it was never something boring or normal.  The man who’d been kicked around enough that I thought he was 10 years older when I met him, and who knew the best place to be, the place to find as much peace as a man can in this life, is on the deck, looking at the stars.  The man who knew that a quick kiss on the shoulder says “I love you” more than all the diamonds in the world.  The man who made me feel like he would never leave me, and always have my back.

But that didn’t happen.  And now here I am, trying to cover his back and doing a piss-poor job of it, honoring his memory and his life in the few ways left for me.  All I can do now is hope the people who matter come around sometime, sometime when they can understand, and ask me who he really was. 

And then I’ll sit them on the deck, hand them a beer and a smoke, and start talking.