*Some great early pix of my darling hubby and his Mum, nephew, friends...my handsome Aussie!
Today-the 20th of October-is officially the six-month mark of your death, of your moving into that another realm of existence-whatever that may be.
I really still count by Friday arvos, however, because that's when my hell on earth began-the moment I stepped into the lounge room and saw you lying on the floor...
I went into shock immediately; I know that now. I remember shouting your name, and trying to move you a bit so I could do CPR. Sadly I knew it was a futile gesture. I could tell you had already left us. I don't remember dialing 911, but I do remember telling the operator to get somebody here ASAP. I vividly remember dropping the phone after I gave her our addy, and I can still hear her telling me to stay on the phone with her-in my altered state, I thought," Why does she want me to talk to HER when I have to help my husband?!"
So the phone fell to the floor, this woman shouting at me to get back on and talk, and all I can sort through next is the paramedics pounding on the door, coming in, and hustling me into the bedroom to wait. How absurd is that?
I FOUND YOU, for chrissake!
What could they possibly do to you that would make me feel WORSE if I watched? I didn't argue with them at the time. I only came out because they wanted me to take Ranger away from you. He wouldn't leave you. He knew, just like I did. I gathered him up in my arms and brought him back to our room. Finally they came in and told me what I knew all along-there was nothing else they could do. You were gone.
I made them give me your wedding ring-I insisted-and even though they are not supposed to, they did.
That absurdity- of not staying with you while they worked on you- came to me the other day while I was sorting through the emotions that always show up before these pivotal marker days. They are like sign posts for the cosmic highway that is our life: they force me to take stock, assess, compare, judge. Am I doing what I should be doing? Living life they way I want, while also making you proud? Am I moving in a forward direction?
Sometimes I wish there was a rest stop. Other times I am glad there is no posted speed limit! Ah, I lived with a cute lead-footed driver, didn't I? :P
The grief monster is more like a high-five interchange; I'll probably get turned around a bit but with patience and a GPS I'll get to where I want to be. Sadly YOU were my GPS babe, and now I have to dig out that old MAPSCO to figure out where the hell I am. It's hard work but I am starting on it.
So, it's now been half a year-HALF A YEAR-since we snuggled on the couch after dinner and watched something with NO redeeming social value, like the Simpson's or Family Guy or COPS.
Six months without your calling me in the middle of the day to leave a silly ocker voice mail on my school extension that just says "Hi honey, see you tonight, I Luuuuuuuv Youuuuuuuuuuuuuuu, princess..."
Twenty six weeks of convincing myself that it will be OK to go on without you. That I can have a happy life if I want one, that you would want that for me, the kids, your friends.
182 days-as of today-that I have gone to bed and sighed, that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that accompanies the ache in my heart as I gaze at the smooth sheets and uncrumpled pillow that make up your side of the bed.
4,368 hours of sorting out "me" from "you" and "us".
26,2080 minutes of trying to remember to breathe as my brain attempts to wrap itself around the concept that you will not be back on this Earth-EVER- no matter whom I beg, no matter what promises I can make, no matter whose god I pray to.
According to Leonardo da Vinci,
Your death has changed me in some very profound ways, babe. I am more open to the possibility of life after death now than I ever was before. Religion still has no place in my heart , but we both know that spirituality and religion are light-years apart.