Thursday, April 8, 2010

Ironic

Forget everything I said about being fine. I am officially back on the freak out train. I am moving in five days, this Saturday marks six months and I am a mess. So much for positive thinking. I am just trying to remind myself how to breathe.

I am trying to hate the house. I am trying to look at every little thing breaking and hate the house. But the truth is, I love my house. It is mine. Well, it was mine. Once upon a time I had big plans for this house. I won’t get into details, but I am a big planner. I like to see everything mapped out right in front of me so there are no surprises. I wanted to get married and have two children in two years. I wanted to raise them and write my novel and then and then you died. So much for all my planning.

If it were up to me I would live my life day to day. I would never make plans and never even look at a calendar. This is what I would do, because the future terrifies the hell out of me – chills down my spine scary. But I have two small children and they cannot live without me or a calendar. It is April and time for normal people to start thinking about their summer plans – I barely know what we are having for dinner. I force myself to act like a human being and make their plans – but when I glimpse into their future mine seeps in a little through the cracks. I just have no idea what I am supposed to do next. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up – except a writer. But this dream died right along with you.

So I am just stuck. I wake up. I raise my children. I pack. I mourn. This is all I do and anything else just seems bigger than I can handle.

But instead of doing what I really needed to be doing today; working and packing – I went to the cemetery. I just ran away from everything and everyone. I went to the one place where I feel the worst, yet the only place where I can truly hide and feel some peace – ironic isn’t it.

My husband’s grave is covered in dirt and rocks – there is no grass or bushes like all the older graves he lays next to. An eye sore of the neighborhood I am sure. Today when I approached every stone on his grave looked like it was in the shape of a heart. I am not kidding – it was weird. I took it as a gift from him and not an act of nature.

I sat and talked to him and then I cried. But I didn’t even cry as long or loud as usual. I just really sat there at 9:30 in the morning feeling the odd comfort of being near him and let the sun warm my wet face. It is so hard sitting there trying to get my brain to really understand that his body is lying underground. It just feels so wrong and so awful. But still I sat listening to the birds chirp and lizards scurry and filled him in on what he has missed.

I complained about silly random things bothering me, and told him he was missing my birthday next week. I told him about the move and that I signed the lease this week and felt like throwing up afterward. The finality of what I am doing is just starting to hit and freak me out. I said I was sorry for the millionth time and told him to please tell G-d that I forgive him and hope his soul is at peace. Finally, I took a tiny piece of paper with our new address on it and tucked it under a rock, so he would know where to find us.

I left with a heavy heart and walked slowly backed to the car. Reality always feels worse after I leave.

On the drive home I thought about what a few people have said to me over the past two weeks. Their comments all have the same thought behind it and I have no response. They tell me I am young and beautiful and smart and will someday find love again. Um, ugh and whatever.

Here is how I view my life. I married the one person on the planet who made me feel special and happy. He could make me laugh over nothing and we started what I thought would be a long and wonderful life together. This is not like replacing a dead goldfish – this was my fairy tale.

But as far as I know they don’t have a fairy tale about my life – even the Grimm’s didn’t touch this one. A princess marries her soul-mate prince after a long and romantic courtship, they live happily ever after until the prince gets killed by the dragon or falls on his own sword (in my case) and then the princess must pick herself up and get back out there to attend more balls at the palace and find . . . what? Another soul-mate prince? I don’t think fairy G-d mother’s do this kind of shit twice.

Honestly, this sounds like something Disney would love to get their hands on.

1 comment:

  1. I really want to read that novel. Why not start now?

    If I could make a suggestion? Read Julia Cameron's "The Artists Way."

    Sorry to be intrusive, I think you are a great writer.

    ReplyDelete