Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Your Name

I woke up this morning and took my two children to school. I got into the car and it just started driving to you. I don’t know what possessed me, but I was on a mission. I blasted my ipod in the car as I was trying to drown out the thoughts in my head. I tried to sing along to distract me, otherwise I would just think about where the car was taking me. I drove like a mad woman. I was honking, swerving around cars and yelling at every idiot driver on the road. I just could not get to you fast enough this morning.

The last time I visited the cemetery your grave was barely filled in with dirt and there was no sign indicating where you were. I called a while back and complained that your grave looked terrible. I had totally forgotten that I had even done this until today.

I walked into the cold, dreary and desolate cemetery and started talking to myself. I always look at all the graves as I meander through and notice there are a lot of couples buried together. It is a very, very old Jewish cemetery and all the graves are mashed up and on top of one another. I always picture these old Jewish men and woman sitting around the cemetery waiting for someone to visit them. I feel like they are watching me as I walk past their tombs, head down, hurrying along.

“Look”, they would say to each other, “There’s that girl again. Poor child, look how sad and alone she looks. Doesn’t she have anything better to do than to come here?” I have this whole show in my head about all these dead people talking to me and about me as I walk toward your grave. I guess sometimes it is easier for me to live in my own made up world inside this cemetery, then to think that I am here to visit my husband.

I always get lost in here. This has become a running joke to me. I feel like you would be laughing, if you saw me each and every time standing at the cross roads. Sadness to the right and misery to the left – which way do I go? I need GPS to work my way around here.

When I do get to your grave I notice that they have filled in the dirt and it looks much better. Then I see the marker sticking out of it with your name and the day that you died. I open my mouth to say hello and the hysterical sobs just come pouring out instead. I am leaning against a very tall tombstone crying and crying and crying. I can’t breathe and I am shivering and freezing and crying hysterical.

I didn’t realize the impact of seeing your name stuck in a pile of dirt could affect me so horribly. It just destroyed me.

I am struck by how absolutely horrible this is. How awful my situation is. How really terrible it is that you killed yourself and now you are dead. I just can’t believe you are in this pile of frozen dirt and I just cry and cry and cry some more. I forgot my tissues in my haste to get to you and I am wiping my nose on my scarf – gross I know – but I was desperate.

I look around and wonder what your neighbors must think of me – that your crazy sad wife is here again and she is hysterical again. I decide since I can’t stop crying, I will just talk through my tears. I tell you whatever random thoughts pop into my head and I know I am not making any sense. Then again, standing in a grave talking to my dead husband – what could possibly make sense ever again.

I tell you that I have forgiven you and hope and pray that G-d has too. I tell you about your children and that I am so sorry and miss you so much. I can’t really talk to you like I did the visit before. I am just starring at the sign with your name on it and all I keep thinking is, this isn’t real. I am so annoyed with myself for calling the cemetery and complaining. I want to take the sign and throw it away. Visiting your grave is hard enough. Seeing your name on a plastic sign is just horrible beyond belief.

I am thinking about how one day I have to get you a headstone. I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can even think of words appropriate to put on a slab of marble that can tell the world how much I love you and how much you are missed. Nothing carved in stone can relay these feelings – I don’t even see the point.

I am still crying and now I am really really cold. It is 9:30 in the morning and I am numb. I head back to the car now much slower than before. I start to drive home much much slower. I am more respectful of my life now and not in a rush to go anywhere or do anything. I am just driving and crying and trying to collect myself.

As the day progresses and I immerse myself in normal life I start to feel a little better. It is sometimes easiest to not think about where you are and what has happened. It is easier to just take deep breaths and move forward with the day and with my life.

Your four year old daughter started a sentence today with, “Remember when daddy was alive and he used to meet us at the park to play?” I just kept thinking that no sentence should ever start this way. Even though she speaks without tears or remorse there is a little sadness in her eyes and my heart is just breaking.

Tomorrow when I wake up and get the kids to school I will go off to work. I will not let the car take me anywhere I don’t want to go – unless it involves strong coffee and donuts . . .

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