9999 and the sound of silence

Every time I listen to my voicemail, I delete my way through the nonsense until I get to "saved messages." I listen to the first few words of each and re-save them just to know they're safe for another week or so.

"Hey girlfriend...I was just thinking about..." [BEEP] (Pressed "9" to save some steamy vm Rbf left on a long haul drive when I was sleeping).

"Kir, call me back right away...please..." [BEEP] (saved: Rbf needing me to be a Creamie girl at a golf tournament)

"Hi Kir, it's Jos." [BEEP] (Rbf's sister and 2 year old nephew singing happy birthday is mine for one more week)

"Happy birthday to...." [BEEP] (Jordan's sweet wife and kids singing happy birthday to me, plus cha-cha-cha at the end).

I hang up my phone, and the screen reads the last four numbers I pushed, all nines for "SaveSaveSaveSave." It's becoming a common sight.

I remember coming home and uneasily telling Rbf, "The only thing in my life that isn't perfect is me."

I was a little unorganized and didn't exercise, so I realized I was the only thing in my life I wanted to improve. I had the perfect job. The perfect man. I had the coolest living arrangement a girl could ask for. I had enough money. I was good friends with my ex-husband. I had time to do the things I wanted. I fit into my favorite jeans and work wasn't stressful. Life was sweet and fun. I realized this was that thing everyone was always buying self-help books and flat-screen TVs just to feel. It was happiness.

I worried it was too much good, and that it was about to be taken away. My ears were ringing with the unfamiliar quietude in life some people might call "peace."

In the four months since then, I've endured a missing persons search, followed by a triple funeral. I wrote and paid for an obituary. I moved. Again. I wrote 33 blog entries comprising about 45,000 words. I created and delivered personalized benefit summaries to tens of thousands of people. I made hand-pressed personal letterhead. I drove three hours each way just to lay tokens on graves in Idaho. I sent letters and family photos to Civil Air Patrol for finding the plane, to the Malheur County Sheriff's office for getting the bodies back to us, and to the Funeral Director who was so gentle with me. I survived Halloween. I made framed gifts for Jed's best friends here. I turned 28. I overnighted some of Rbf's personal affects to his out-of-state friends, so they could have a piece of him. I bought a headstone. Survived Thanksgiving. Spent 150 hours and 6,000 miles and $1,000 in gas just commuting. Experienced my first "fail" in safety & emissions. Had to get new wiper blades. Had to get new windshield. Had to get a tire repaired. Jobs that used to be his. I submitted an offer on a townhome. Had my first "Our good people are getting laid off and it could be any one of you" meeting in corporate America (officially a grown up). Pulled the offer on the townhome. Went to West Yellowstone with the Dumkes. Went to Midway with the blog girls. Went to Jackson Hole with the quilt girls. I joined a widow's forum. I made 100 scotcheroos. Got an engraved memorial plate frame for my car. Hit The Anger Stage and dropped my very first online f-bomb in five years of blogging. And in about seven hours, I will have officially survived Christmas - the anniversary of our first kiss of The ReAwesome Era, and the biggest and loudest reminder that I'm alone.

Somehow throughout all this, I kept my car insurance current.

But I am now exhausted. And now, I have to let it all quiet down again, back to the silence that yielded peace four months ago.

I'm so scared of what silence will sound like now.

My guess is that it will be something bittersweet. Like the brief moment of silence my mom and two sisters had last night over the Christmas Eve clam chowder tradition our family has enjoyed for probably 20 years. Rbf and I showed up for last year's, and he had a bowl before he left for his parents' house. He raved about it for my mom. She makes it from scratch, after all. When he returned to the house the day after Christmas, mom insisted on taking our picture before we drove home. It was our first picture together in Round 2 (a nicer word for "post divorce"). I posted it on here a year ago, so giddy and excited to have him back. I didn't really expect it to mean so much later.

Last night, one of my sisters commented, "Last year's was better." They all fell silent over the table, and had a stretch of that blaring, unignorable quietude in his memory. Oh, the courage that takes.

The quiet snow tells us to hush. It stretches in a big, wide blanket from my home to his and lies over my sweet boyfriend now as he sleeps in heavenly peace.

Merry Christmas to all - and I'm so glad it's over.