I Cried

In case you ever need to know, two weeks seems to be the limit for self-delusion.

My sister Kelly found me standing in Tom's workshop a night or two before the service. I was trying to find an appropriate item from there for the Tom shrine I intended to build to go at the front of the room since there was no casket and I still have yet to receive his ashes. She wanted me to cry, which at this point I hadn't done. My response was that I really wanted to speak at the service and couldn't fall apart yet or I wouldn't get through it. It still seemed so surreal. Like he could come walking through the front door at any time. It's now been 2 weeks and though I have tremendous sadness, I hadn't REALLY cried. Until today.

Today I lost it. Things feel more real. More permanent. I wish I could explain it to our pets. The parrots have a distinctive call for Tom and when they hear a car come down the driveway or if I walk through the front door they call out. In the past, I would say, "it's just Mama" and the call would change to "insert opera note" which is Zeppo's name for me because I sing to them. Today I yelled, "It's just Mama and it's always going to be JUST MAMA!" The dogs know the parrot's call for Tom and also run to the door to look and it's breaking my heart. I keep thinking that from their point of view, I walked out the door one day and didn't come home for 6 weeks. My hospital stay wasn't exactly planned. They may hold out hope for a long time.

Crying didn't help. I know. I know. Time. Time sucks. Give me a time machine to undo all of this. Where is Dr. Who when you really need him? I need a blue Tardis.

Everyone else got to go home to some semblance of normal. Most to someone to comfort them. My only real comfort is gone. And I hate it. And it's not fair. And life is random and cruel. And right now you cannot convince me otherwise. Don't try.

I tried to be mad at Tom today for leaving me. It didn't work. I felt guilty about it. It wasn't his fault.

I tried painting today. That didn't go well either. My style is very detailed and needs concentration and control which doesn't pair well with high emotion.

I tried watching TV. An "In Plain Sight" marathon was on. Okay, cool. I like that show. I turn immediately to a scene where the office manager, who lost her husband, was explaining how each morning the reality hits that he is still gone. How each day starts with such pain and that day, that day, she woke up without thinking of him first and that hurt too. Really? Did I just relive my blog from yesterday? Thanks.

I sold a painting today. If one can experience simultaneous elation and despair that was what hit me. Normally, I would get excited and run and tell Tom when I sold a piece. Another reminder that he isn't here.

I don't have a way to end this entry. I guess because I'm nowhere near the end of the journey or the pain.

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I chose "Wednesday's Child" for the painting because like her, I am full of woe.