I am grateful this morning that I have the day off from work. I just came from my local supermarket, and commiserated with the women there that checked out my groceries that they have to work during this “holiday”. Obviously, there are many taking advantage of this – I live surrounded by beaches, which I am sure are packed today. The only ones that are not are in New Jersey. But I am alone, and I do not do the beach alone, or any activity out of my comfort zone alone. So I am here, in my safe place, for the day. Don’t get me wrong, if I had someone, anyone that interested me, I would be up for an adventure. But I also have an interview of my life tomorrow.
All I want to do is listen to music and not worry about the 25-minute Skype interview. They have seen my work. They wanted to talk to me for a reason. But I still feel inferior, and nervous. I will be a wreck until it is over. And I will do everything in my power to put off prepping for it, until the 11th hour, when I have no choice. I just don’t have the energy right now…
But in a few hours I might. In a few hours I may feel motivated. But little right now is motivating me. I have spent the morning (since 5 AM) listening to Chris Cornell singing with Cat Stevens (Wild World), a song that is so salient to my time with my husband. And then “Imagine”, which is a beautiful song, but did little for me as I grew up other than wanting to live at the Dakota, until he was killed outside (Lennon). And then “Nothing Compares To You”, which I had forgotten Prince had written, but I see myself as the 17-year old in a music store in Switzerland listening to Sinead’s haunting vocals and knowing it was a song that would be within my blood forever. Cornell singing it, well it just made his death that much harder.
A friend posted this on FaceBook today:
I had a sad notion of grief.
I thought it was a sad time
That followed the death of someone you loved.
And you had to push through it to get to the other side.
But I am learning there is no other side.
There is no pushing through.
But rather there is absorption
And grief is not something you complete.
But rather, you endure.
Grief is not a task to finish and move on,
But an element of yourself- an alternation of your being.
A new way of seeing, a new definition of self.
And anyone who has dealt with grief should understand this. If it was someone special. Someone who understood them, loved them regardless of their failings and were always there. To lose such a person is to lose part of who you are. And no one can change that. No one can make up for that.
I love my partner. But in a different way – I am more cautious now. I don’t think anyone will ever understand me the way my husband did. And so I am alone, as I have felt most of my life. I am different, perhaps because of the plague in my brain or simply because of who I am. I do not know, anymore. All I know is what I want to be, but I don’t know how to get there.
I hate the 9-5 life. Most of us do. It saps the life out of life, unless we are truly engaged with our work. Mine, of late, has been tedious at best. But I float from place to place every two years and I feel I am getting to a finish line where no one will consider me as serious. I suppose it is the chessboard, and I have to make the next move.
I miss him. So much. I ache for him. Just a word, a sentence – something that lets me know he is still somewhere. But I am an atheist, as he was, so where is Valhalla? Where is he? Where does one go when life is over and yet there is no end game, no heaven or hell to wait for?
We used to celebrate the 4th. We had a small kiddie pool we would fill up with water in the backyard of the beautiful house he owned and would play like children. Everyday with him was like being a child – discovery, imagination, belief in what we could not see and yet we could imagine.
So, after 13 years I am still enduring this ending. So sudden. No goodbye. And I don’t know how to digest it today. When I was with him, it was a day to be outside, explore, enjoy nature. Here, it is too hot and monsoon like weather, so one stays inside most of the time. A prisoner from the heat and the sun. And alone.
I will always love you and never stop missing you, my darling crow boy.
© Sorrow & Kindness