I know I said no more blogging like I'm that girl that needs attention for her tragedy (bring on the comments, I know you know I'm not That Girl, but still...) but my timestamps are getting ripe, and I feel like maybe I've become a crapwad writer all of a sudden.
The Swimmers' song Where in the world are you? is in my head, because I'm writing the lyrics to it in my little book of letters I write to Rbf.
OK. Little book of letters, not so much. It is actually the journal I got him for Christmas. The gorgeous leatherbound, gold-edged, soft cover lined journal I picked out just for him, the front cover of which he inked with his name, number and address, and the date "January 1, 2009" in. And nothing else from that point on.
We had been talking and catching up just before the holiday, and we sat down to dinner a few days before Christmas to catch up. For the first time in three contact-free years. He had come directly from a downtown bookstore where he was buying journals as Christmas gifts for the little kids living in Grandpa Floyd's house on the farm. Their parents "rented" it from Rbf, and by "rented," I mean "occupied and trashed without paying for." They loved him (as we all do), and he decided they needed journals.
The Swimmers' song Where in the world are you? is in my head, because I'm writing the lyrics to it in my little book of letters I write to Rbf.
OK. Little book of letters, not so much. It is actually the journal I got him for Christmas. The gorgeous leatherbound, gold-edged, soft cover lined journal I picked out just for him, the front cover of which he inked with his name, number and address, and the date "January 1, 2009" in. And nothing else from that point on.
We had been talking and catching up just before the holiday, and we sat down to dinner a few days before Christmas to catch up. For the first time in three contact-free years. He had come directly from a downtown bookstore where he was buying journals as Christmas gifts for the little kids living in Grandpa Floyd's house on the farm. Their parents "rented" it from Rbf, and by "rented," I mean "occupied and trashed without paying for." They loved him (as we all do), and he decided they needed journals.
Of course he did. Why not bring a Brazilian orphan to the table that he picked up on one of his trips back there, and proceed to speak to her in Portugese in front of me while telling me Angelina Jolie doesn't know crap about orphans and asking me where I got my highlights done, before mentioning he thinks jacked-up trucks are an embarrassment to roughnecks everywhere. Hearing the journals-for-white-trash-kids story was like getting rufied. I'm lucky he didn't have impure intentions.
He filled six or seven journals in his lifetime. He loved to journal, and I laughed over our dinner as it all came back - what a huge part of his life journaling was, and how much it had made me love him back in the day. We used to sit and read to one another from our journals...and skip to the parts each of us wrote about the other. He said he hadn't been writing in his lately, that it had been a really long time. It's sad, because I would love to be able to read what was on his mind during the past several months. We still aren't sure if he had picked back up in his current unfinished journal, or where it is. It's possible the most recent one they have is his last.
I searched for the perfect one, found it, and gave it to him on Christmas Eve when we carpooled to the two towns in southern Idaho our parents lived. I don't know when he marked it January 1, but I wish he'd followed through. The blank pages of it bugged me. The journal reminded me of the rest of my life. Branded with him early on and then nothing more of him in the story, from that point forward. So I fill it up with writings of the one-sided relationship we now have. I write letters to him there. I include lyrics to the songs I hear him in and tell him about my day.
I searched for the perfect one, found it, and gave it to him on Christmas Eve when we carpooled to the two towns in southern Idaho our parents lived. I don't know when he marked it January 1, but I wish he'd followed through. The blank pages of it bugged me. The journal reminded me of the rest of my life. Branded with him early on and then nothing more of him in the story, from that point forward. So I fill it up with writings of the one-sided relationship we now have. I write letters to him there. I include lyrics to the songs I hear him in and tell him about my day.
And this song always applied. When we dated the first time, and he was always traveling the world with his dudebros and leaving me behind. And when I was married, how I wondered once in awhile if I would ever run into him in a gas station or a mall what I would say, and where he was, and if he was happy, and if he knew how great my husband was, and what he would think if he could see the grownup, independent, employed, confident me that my husband helped coax out. I kept my thoughts loyal to my husband, but I wondered about Rbf. When we found each other again, and he was always on the road, I'd wonder what state he was in as I sat at my boring desk every day.
And now, all I ever do is wonder. I think I see him everywhere. My 40 minute commute every morning has more 18-wheelers than you'd believe. And motorcycles. And the sky is filled with planes...single engine ones that piss me right off. Why do those guys' wives and partners and girlfriends and roommates get to see them tonight? I see him in the traffic and I hear him in every song. It feels like I'm always looking for him somewhere. Rbf, where in the world are you?
I got a storage unit today. It was time. I haven't packed up my room at the boys' house yet. It's still right where I left it. Bed made, sheets unwashed, a bridal magazine dog-eared and sitting on my desk. Dust on my printer. Dust on my monitor. My garbage can unemptied. It is time, now, for that dreaded task that makes it really over.
When I filled out the application for the unit, I got to the line that said "emergency contact" and robotically put the pen down to write his name, and it hit me. Shit. Ow, that one hurt. OK that was the sad part, now here's the embarrassing part. I kind of looked up and stared ahead trying to think of who else I should put since he can't be my emergency contact anymore for stuff, and my mind went, "oh oh, I know, Reboyfriend!" DAMMIT. I'm such a moron. I had to have that kick to the face twice. I kept wanting to write his name anyway. I should have. What are the chances of an emergency with my storage unit? Duh.
The thought of just putting his name down anyway, just depressed me. It reminded me of this guy that bought a bunch of home-made soap from my sister Scoot in this one scent (she made them in all kinds of pretty smells). He said he wanted just that scent, because it was his wife's favorite. Scoot found out later that day that the guy's wife had died like two weeks earlier. Sometimes I still refer to Rbf in the present tense. I'm getting a new snowboard here soon, and I'm only looking at Forums, Rbf's longtime board of choice. I'm soap-wife guy.
I'm at the two month stage - Rbf's sister told me that she took a little grieving seminar thing, where she learned that you are in shock for the first two months. You are blogging and laughing at work and bragging about the two times you did your hair since the funeral and everyone is going "hm, well she's taking this well." Nope. Wrong-o. Suddenly, out of the blue, you REALLY realize he is not coming back.
I have dreams where I forget he is gone, but I'm acutely aware that I haven't talked to him FOREVER, and it really has been awhile since he called, so maybe I should just call HIM. I wake up to do it, too. And I then have that DAMMIT moment.
I have severe sinus issues. I'm due for my third operation on them. Basically they all grow in and close off my nasal passages, and I have to get them roto-rooted every six years and it's like $16,000 and you have black eyes for weeks and it hurts like a bitch. You might understand why I'm putting it off.
When I cry extremely hard, and all the tissues in my sinus cavities swell, there is literally no room for them to expand. My head hurts like it's been hit with a hammer, and I can hear the little bones above my palate and septum and in between all the sinuses, creaking like an old ship under the pressure against them. It's super gross and creepy.
My hair comes out in handfuls when I brush it. I have zits growing on top of other zits, scattered over giant wrinkles. I have zits in my wrinkles you guys. W!T!F! I weighed myself today and I'm about a damp kleenex away from two-digit territory. (Sounds extreme, but keep in mind I don't even clear 5'3"). When you drop a bunch of weight and your skin is still a blanket of cellulite, it's not called weight loss...it's called dehydration. Gross. (I'm not single, but I'm not getting married anymore, so it's a weird mid-air/matrix/relationship limbo that equates to not having to shave and still being in love. Awesome). Sorry, I just had to get up from my laptop to go pick my face since I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since I just wrote that. It wasn't helpful. Nothing got smaller and now I look like I have shingles.
I haven't blogged because I have nothing to say but sad things about my fat dimples and hair loss. The cupcakes and flowers I buy myself are still nice, and they still make a difference, but the past two weeks have been heinous. It has hit me. It is real.
And I don't have much else to say.
I got a storage unit today. It was time. I haven't packed up my room at the boys' house yet. It's still right where I left it. Bed made, sheets unwashed, a bridal magazine dog-eared and sitting on my desk. Dust on my printer. Dust on my monitor. My garbage can unemptied. It is time, now, for that dreaded task that makes it really over.
When I filled out the application for the unit, I got to the line that said "emergency contact" and robotically put the pen down to write his name, and it hit me. Shit. Ow, that one hurt. OK that was the sad part, now here's the embarrassing part. I kind of looked up and stared ahead trying to think of who else I should put since he can't be my emergency contact anymore for stuff, and my mind went, "oh oh, I know, Reboyfriend!" DAMMIT. I'm such a moron. I had to have that kick to the face twice. I kept wanting to write his name anyway. I should have. What are the chances of an emergency with my storage unit? Duh.
The thought of just putting his name down anyway, just depressed me. It reminded me of this guy that bought a bunch of home-made soap from my sister Scoot in this one scent (she made them in all kinds of pretty smells). He said he wanted just that scent, because it was his wife's favorite. Scoot found out later that day that the guy's wife had died like two weeks earlier. Sometimes I still refer to Rbf in the present tense. I'm getting a new snowboard here soon, and I'm only looking at Forums, Rbf's longtime board of choice. I'm soap-wife guy.
I'm at the two month stage - Rbf's sister told me that she took a little grieving seminar thing, where she learned that you are in shock for the first two months. You are blogging and laughing at work and bragging about the two times you did your hair since the funeral and everyone is going "hm, well she's taking this well." Nope. Wrong-o. Suddenly, out of the blue, you REALLY realize he is not coming back.
I have dreams where I forget he is gone, but I'm acutely aware that I haven't talked to him FOREVER, and it really has been awhile since he called, so maybe I should just call HIM. I wake up to do it, too. And I then have that DAMMIT moment.
I have severe sinus issues. I'm due for my third operation on them. Basically they all grow in and close off my nasal passages, and I have to get them roto-rooted every six years and it's like $16,000 and you have black eyes for weeks and it hurts like a bitch. You might understand why I'm putting it off.
When I cry extremely hard, and all the tissues in my sinus cavities swell, there is literally no room for them to expand. My head hurts like it's been hit with a hammer, and I can hear the little bones above my palate and septum and in between all the sinuses, creaking like an old ship under the pressure against them. It's super gross and creepy.
My hair comes out in handfuls when I brush it. I have zits growing on top of other zits, scattered over giant wrinkles. I have zits in my wrinkles you guys. W!T!F! I weighed myself today and I'm about a damp kleenex away from two-digit territory. (Sounds extreme, but keep in mind I don't even clear 5'3"). When you drop a bunch of weight and your skin is still a blanket of cellulite, it's not called weight loss...it's called dehydration. Gross. (I'm not single, but I'm not getting married anymore, so it's a weird mid-air/matrix/relationship limbo that equates to not having to shave and still being in love. Awesome). Sorry, I just had to get up from my laptop to go pick my face since I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since I just wrote that. It wasn't helpful. Nothing got smaller and now I look like I have shingles.
I haven't blogged because I have nothing to say but sad things about my fat dimples and hair loss. The cupcakes and flowers I buy myself are still nice, and they still make a difference, but the past two weeks have been heinous. It has hit me. It is real.
And I don't have much else to say.
"I've been looking in churches and looking in bars
Thought that I saw you in the oncoming cars
It was your reflection cast off by the light
And into the sky of this dark city night
I looked for you up in the tallest of trees
Swayed back and forth in the mid-autumn breeze
When the leaves reddened and left too
I knew then that it wasn't you
Where in the world are you now?
Where in the world are you now?
Oh where in the world are you?
Oh where in the world are you?
Where in the world are you now?
And I looked for you then in music and song
'Cause I thought I could find you there
They were only notes pulled from the air
Not the kind I could read or breathe if I dare
Where in the world are you now?
Where in the world are you now?
Oh where in the world are you?
Oh where in the world are you?
Where in the world are you now?"
I still have moments where I want to call my dad - he died December 2006. I literally catch myself mid sentence saying "I'll just call Dad." I know losing a dad is nothing like losing a lover, but I know that he will always be a big part of your life forever. You will always have him in the back of your mind. You will always wonder what advice he'd give you or what he'd think of something. Keep him fresh in your memory, he will live on forever.
ReplyDeleteThe emergency contact moments are a bitch. So was removing him from my life insurance. And good thing I got a new cell phone, because there's no way in hell I could delete "Dad". His name is still in my contacts list, and I'll tell you something I've never told anyone else: sometimes, I still write him an email and hit 'send.' Is that crazy or what? It makes me feel better, so I do it.
ReplyDeleteThe reality is so hard. I know you have good friends near you. Don't be afraid to lean on them and let them hold you up when you need it. You'll do it for someone else, someday.
I think one of the things that's important to remember is that while we talk about the grief stages, it doesn't always work like that. Some people don't have them in a particular order. Some people won't experience some of them. It looks different for everyone, and it will look different for you than it might for his family.
ReplyDeleteOne of the quotes my coworker, Charlie, has in his office about grief is "Repetition diminishes the grief." Meaning, the more you talk about it and get it out, the faster you will heal.
I think that you continally talking about this and him is such a good thing for you. Don't apologize for it
Oh how I wish I could take your pain away.
ReplyDeleteI don't have that personal experience with grief, so maybe I'll take the lighter side and discuss what I do have experience with: zits-on-zits-in-wrinkles. And I don't have any good excuse, like "grieving and stressed out and not taking good care of myself." I'm just 38, so I have wrinkles. And I've had zits-on-zits since I was 13, except for that one time I took Accutane when I was 30, and for a couple years after that. The combination equals zits-on-zits-in-wrinkles, probably in perpetuum until after menopause (coming up quicker than I like to think about), when it will then be scars-of-zits-on-zits-in-wrinkles. Yay. Also too? My hair falls out in handsful, and although I haven't had sinus surgery, I HAVE had pan-sinusitis that put me in the ER twice with lots of good, heavy drugs (mmm, Dilaudid...), so I know a little bit about that pain. So see, some of us know about your grief, and some of us know about all the other stuff, and I hope at least I made you giggle just a little trying to envision my peri-menopausal zits-on-zits-in-wrinkles. How's THAT for a run-on paragraph???
ReplyDeletesorry things suck right now.
ReplyDeleteThe description of your sinus issues made me gag but I like it when I read something that gives me such a visual I have a physical reaction.
I wish I could hug you! I have had a very hard week and today was AWFUL so I went to the cheesecake factory and tried the Wilde Blueberry cheesecake that you mentioned in one of your posts. (I also got a slice of red velvet cheesecake.) I felt better after the first bit. Thanks for that mention. I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better Kirsten! Just know I love you and I keep you in my prayers all the time. Love you!
ReplyDeleteThat is a beautiful song. I haven't heard of them before.
ReplyDeleteThis phase does indeed suck. More permanent, more lonely. I wish I could do something for you.
If it makes you feel diverted, (better is never the right word) Eleanor is crying in her crib right now staring at the camera. She quiets down every few minutes and falls asleep sitting up only to jerk herself awake to cry some more. It's pathetic and sad and very funny.
OK, I admit, I'm a lurker. We have a mutual friend, and I found your blog on the eve of the beginning of life without. I'm not brilliant, nor a theologian. I can't pretend to understand why something so awful could happen to two young, beautiful, happy, loving people. You are both so clearly loved by so many. I can only say, that despite yourself and your pain, you are genuine and lovely and brutally honest, and I am in awe of your awesomeness (was that right?). I pray for you every day. I wish I could give you one of those kisses my Mom used to give me, to make everything better. You know, that kiss in the center of the forehead, held long enough to bring calm to your very core. Cyber hugs.
ReplyDeleteSometimes I think we don't want to heal from this type of painful experience because we are afraid it will diminish our love. As long as we feel the pain, the love is still real.
ReplyDeleteThe love will still be there when the pain is gone.
I keep checking in on you, hoping things will be getting better, but I know the reality is it might take a long, long, long time.
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry, you sweet little thing.
I found your blog last week, I don't know how in the world I did, and I have spent a lot of time reading it over and over again. Your grief is palpable. If there were anything in this world I could tell you that would make it better I would. But there's not any words that would help and we both know it. You know it much better than I do. One thing I know for sure from reading about Jed: He was the love of your life -- and you were his. Lots of people are never that blessed. But you were. Hang tight sweetie, just hang tight.
ReplyDeletei bet even your cellulite is hot.
ReplyDeleteand i'm really sorry about everything. truly
Tender hugs... hes everywhere! Hes our trucker angel. I wanted to borrow a dry van for my own pods hell yeah I got the truck to move it!!! But yeah.... I always save a pic and a voice mail of my kids now...
ReplyDeletethanks for the pic on the end!
Today I earned a cupcake and thought of you!! I dealt with two truck drivers and one port of entry in Fruita colorado!
My offer is still open to help you pack up your room. I can even do it for you. I'm not joking!
ReplyDeletePlease call me so I can feel a little less guilty for using your Dyson (that I would literally die without, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!)
I love and miss you, and HATE that you are in so much pain!
XOXO
thinking of you still. Ryan is here and staying for a little while. I think he is still having a hard time too. I told him how much this blog has helped me deal with it all. I can't explain how much it helps to know that you are being completely honest and letting us in just a little bit. I feel a little selfish reading your posts because in a way it makes me feel a little less sad, even though most of the time I end up crying by the time I am done reading. I am so grateful to you for that. I am proud of you, please continue to deal with this however you need to, it is how you will move on! Oh and don't worry we all have wrinkles and zits, you ain't cool unless you got em'!! Love and thoughts, Lori
ReplyDeleteLoss sucks. It just plain sucks.
ReplyDeleteI love that you are so open. I lost one of my best friends 5 years ago, and I still occasionally want to call her. The thing that really sucks is she wasn't at my wedding, she never met my husband even, and I'll never get to go to hers. She didn't even find love before she died.
I get the dreams thing--I'd dream about her all the time, and she wouldn't talk to me. She'd just sit there, silent, and I'd be trying to get her to talk, and when I finally ask her why she's not saying anything, I'd remember, "Oh yeah, you're dead" and then wake up and cry.
Kris - you called it "dead dad days" once and I think that is appropriate. Rebecca - I still send him texts and check his email to this day. You're not crazy. I had to get a new phone because I was afraid one day it would bump his texts off the hard drive. That, and my old phone sucked.
ReplyDeleteSister Pulsipher - you must be right, because this "process" has been an embarrassment to psychology. Pick a path and take it, I'd like to tell my healing. But it's random and just truckin along.
Darling Nicki - All the love and support, it takes some away. It really does help. Sometimes I feel like there are a bunch of people feeling this with me, and it makes it less scary.
Pooh - you made me lol!
Lisa - A sign of a good writer is someone who can gross you out JUST that bad! Thanks for the kudos, hahaha.
Jaime - I was really there in spirit enjoying the cheesecake.
Annie - Eleanor stories make me happy. Thank you for having her.
Amy - a friend of a friend is a friend indeed. Thank you for the cyberlove. I LOVE delurkers, and this is a place where words like "awesomeness" are absolutely part of the official vocab!
Sandy - You are right, love truly is immortal. I can't wait for the day when this pain eases up and I can just enjoy loving someone this much.
Stacy Q - thank you for checking up. I am flattered!
Loretta - thank you for commenting. Now I have your blog and I can read up and be a blog friend.
Stephanie - sometimes I think of something really juicy and out-of-line to say about my love for you on your blog. But I'm usually driving. Then I forget. I'll get you one of these days.
Erin - you deserve the cupcake, you sweetheart!
Michi - I forgot I had a Dyson. Score! Tell it hi. I bet it misses me and my mane.
Lori - great to hear from you. Take care of my Gordo. And tell the family hi! It is sweet of you to read my blog too. I know it's a lot!
MJ - I hear you with the waking up thing. I hate that part of every day. "Oh yeah." You had forgotten for a few hours, and then you have to wake up and remember all over again.