Could It All Just Be a Bad Dream?

Sometimes I wonder.  In the middle of the night I can nearly forget my reality.  When I'm driving home after baseball practice I forget.  Even when I stand at the sink, washing up the last meal's dishes, I can almost forget about it all.  Just almost.

And then I remember, all too vividly, the look of panic that seems to shadow my sweet Sarah's face now.  I remember her tearful nighttime plea, covered by the anonymity of darkness, that she's afraid I'll leave her and she won't be able to find me.  Her tantrums and irrational behaviors are what make me remember that it is all real.

Do you want to see heartbreak?  True, raw, real heartbreak?  Then watch our littlest girl, the one who was brought into this world by her own Daddy, the one who lives life on her own terms and with the most amazing courage and zeal, become so scared of being left behind and abandoned that she is irrationally afraid, panicked even, at any given moment.  Pure fear.  How can you explain the tragedy of this life to a child?  How can their innocence and sweetness be preserved in troubling times?

Want another example of our heartbreak?  Just read a book or watch a television show or simply check out social media.  There are (intact)families everywhere.  I see Father/daughter balls, Daddies reading bedtime story books, Father's Day gifts to buy, Dads teaching their sons how to throw a curve ball.  Everywhere I look there are Dads.  And kids with their Dads.

I cannot claim this particular brand of heartbreak.  Indeed, I have my own place for that.  This heartbreak is for our children.  Each one is carrying a Dad-sized hole in their souls.  And each hole is going to look a little differently from the others.  All I can do is try to help them figure out how to keep going and how to honor their Dad on their journeys.  I must be their stability, their safe place.  I must teach them things that I don't even know.  I must set the right example for them.  I must protect them.  I must encourage and love them.  I also must discipline and correct them.  I have a huge job.

So.

Don't judge me for my choices.  Don't think you understand me or try to "teach" me a life lesson.  Don't make assumptions about me.  No one, no one at all, has walked in my shoes or carried my burdens.  No one's life has been changed more by losing Bill than my family's has.  Our kids, though, are who suffer the most.  I beg for love and grace and understanding for them.  They are amazingly brave and strong.

Just be here.  Without words even.  Just present and accepting.  Supportive and patient.  But silly and fun too.  Bill loved to have fun.  It's what I strive to do for them every day.  They are great kids--each one a part of Bill forever.

Dull. Flat.

I cleaned out our closet this weekend.  I'll be honest, it was not an easy task, but then I didn't think it would be.  I guess it was time though because anytime I would open Bill's side of the closet and look at his clothes hanging there it made me feel awful.  I left two shirts hanging up.  One that he was wearing the day he died and one of his favorites that I (stole) wore throughout my last two pregnancies.  Oh, and I also left the sweater that I knit for him last Christmas.  Someday, I'll use all of those shirts and pants and even the ratty old bathrobe to create lovely quilts for each one of the kids. All those old-man clothes that perfectly suited Bill, shoved haphazardly into boxes.  I felt like throwing up afterwards.

I'm feeling pretty sad now.  I just want to bury my head underneath the covers of our bed and stay there.  I want to sleep because when I'm asleep I forget.  And Bill is still with me in my dreams.  But I can't sleep or stay in bed so instead I work.  From sun up until sundown, and even then sometimes I don't stop.  When I'm busy I don't think.  Frankly, I'm so tired of thinking.  Thinking about what I regret, what I lost, what my future holds, what to do with the burden of responsibility I bear.  I think about being alone. I think about a lot of stuff.  Too much stuff.

I wonder if I'm really living or simply existing.  I think I'm just existing right now.  That's probably okay too.  I'm fearful that "simply existing" will become my only reality.  Almost like a bad habit that cannot be broken.  I feel old.  I feel like I've lost the sparkle, the shine, the glitter that illuminated my life.  I don't like it, I tell you. Maybe I should buy a pair of those sparkly Tom's shoes to add a little sparkle to my world.

Yeah, so it pretty much sucks.  I'm alone and missing Bill.  I'm trying to make some decisions about our family's future and I'm doing it alone.  I'm running hither and yon with kids and baseball and school and work and chores and I'm doing that alone too.  I think I used to be fun.

Dear Bill,

It's been almost three months since I talked with you so I thought I'd write a letter and let you know how things were going around here. I miss you everyday, all day long.  I'm always remembering little things that I want to tell you about.  I guess I still can.

The kids are doing pretty well.  Madeline is still working quite a lot and saving her money to start school in the fall.  She's leaning towards studying journalism--you know how good she is at writing so that's a perfect choice.   She's also in the middle of a bedroom redo that is going to require a trip to IKEA. I know how much you love IKEA.   She brought the bed you made for her back inside.  It still looks good and it's held up just fine.  You did a nice job!  Jack is busy, as usual.  He just modified the green trailer with new rails so he can haul more wood in it.  Yesterday he got up on the roof and cleaned the chimney for us.  Baseball seems to be good, though he's still hitting on the top of the ball or too far under it.  He's played flawlessly in center, never missing a ball.  He steps out of the box when the pitcher's taking too long, just like you taught him.  Gilly saw him do it and approved.  He weed-whacked around your grave tonight so it looks tidy.  I think he remembers all that you taught him.  Jon started ball too.  He's totally into it this year, as much as Jon can be.  He loves that Minecraft game and is always rambling on about his newest building projects.  It's all foreign to me!  He helped me spread bark dust out front by the mailbox today.  He's also dreaming about the little motorbike that Jonathan gave  him.  I'll make sure he's careful with it.  Oh, and there's still Legos all over the house.  And Sarah.  She's still Sarah.  She started playing T-ball tonight.  Please don't be mad that I'm letting her play.  She really wanted to.  She won't leave my side right now, not even in the mornings when I go out to feed the animals.  Or when I get up to go potty at night.  Or when I take the laundry out to the furnace room.  She said she's afraid I'll leave  her.  Pretty understandable, right?  I'm trying to be patient with her, but you know how hard patience is for me.  Oh, and she's reading really well.   Hasn't lost anymore teeth yet.  She's sleeping next to me right now.

Your dumb cow isn't pregnant.  She's faulty, just like your white chickens from Tractor Supply.  I think Bud will work some of his magic on her soon and there will hopefully be a calf next spring.  I know you were hoping for a calf this year.  We got 5 new chicks to replace the current ladies.  Red Leghorns and Wellsummers, I think.  I've got them in the little coop you built last year.  Once the weather gets warmer I'll move them out of the Fire Hall and next to the big coop.  I guess I'll have to learn how to butcher now.  Gross.  Remember your discussion with John about bees?  Well, he brought over a new hive and is going to split the bees he caught in the orchard last summer for us.  I know how you always wanted bees.  I'm a little nervous about it but I guess I'll learn about bees now too.  Vader and Cricket are good.  Cricket is loving farm life and keeps up with us when we hike.  Karl is still living in the woodshed eating various vermin.  Sarah helps me take care of all the animals in the mornings.  A real farm girl.

I'm working on getting things crossed off your list.  I spread two yards of mulch today but probably need about four more to get everything covered.  Brian delivered it.  We talked about baseball and Shannon sent a pie.  Dan is coming next week to install that darn fan in the bathroom.  I'll try to get the pond redone sometime this summer.  And, yes, I'll clean the fence.  I know how you hate for it to be so filthy.

I'm not baking anymore.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I made a lemon meringue pie last weekend but ended up throwing the leftovers away today.  There's just no one to eat any of that stuff.  At least not with the same gusto that you did.  My cookie jar sits empty now.  Sorry.

I'm going to have to clean out your side of the closet.  I'm not looking forward to that chore.  I hope you don't mind that I'm going to cut up all of your clothes (even your favorite Filson vest) and make quilts for all the kids with the fabric.  I'm even going to use your nasty old bathrobe!  I might keep that one Pendleton shirt though because it still smells like you.  Remember when your Grandma gave you Grandpa Bill's underwear?  Maybe I should give yours to someone.  Maybe not.

Sometimes I get mad at you for leaving me here by myself with so much responsibility and so much work.  I worry that I'm doing things wrong and that I can't possibly be an adequate replacement for you.  I'm afraid I'll mess things up.  You know I wasn't supposed to do this on my own, right?  What I wouldn't give to have you here, making your messes and talking about your politics and listening to your operas.  I'd love to hear you snore or read one of your dorky stories to me.   There are so many things we didn't ever get to do.  I get pretty sad about it all.  But, I still get up in the morning and I still laugh at off color jokes.  I still work hard and try hard and hope to make you proud.  It's just hard.

I love you.
Julie

P.S. Ruger loves your hat and wears it every day.  That makes me smile and I know it makes you smile too.

Real Quick?

Hey, can I ask a favor of y'all really quick?  Feeling a little alarmed about some abnormalities found on Jack's recent echo cardiogram and asking for good thoughts and prayers to be sent our way.  ( I should explain that per the request of Bill's cardiologist, all the kids are undergoing some basic testing--just to be on the safe side.)  It's unnerving for us (me) to spend more time at the cardiologist's office so soon.  I really doubt that it will turn out to be anything horribly serious but the potential is jarring me a bit.  Thank you!

I'm Beginning to Wonder.

I'm beginning to wonder if I am becoming mildly agoraphobic.  Leaving the house is almost painful to me.  I don't mind grocery shopping, though, so that's good.  Actually I don't mind Target either.  As long as it's not a weekend and there aren't too many people around.  So maybe I am both agoraphobic as well as anthropophobic, which is the fear of people.  It might also be scopophobia, which is the fear of being looked at.

Someone told me the other day that I should get rid of my van.  Probably not a bad idea considering both its age and its potential for racking up costly repair bills. I have a fear of change (metathesiophobia) so that probably isn't a good idea either.

Pantophobia is the fear of everything.  I definitely don't have that.  There are plenty of things I don't fear.  Like food or cats or dirt.  I am afraid of sheep though, which is called ovinaphobia.  I'm really quite fine as long as I stay close to home.  Get me out in public, though, then watch out!  I'm like a mouse looking for the closest escape route.

I just don't like to be out in the world among the masses right now.  I believe I'm entitled to that.

Sometimes I think people would feel better if I did have a complete meltdown.  A really ugly one with weeping, snot, and incoherent babbling.  Probably not going to happen though.  I am not drunk, medicated, or living in my pretend fantasy world.  I am simply struggling to keep my head above the proverbial water, doing the best I can to survive.  When you've walked in  my shoe on my path for a bit, you will only then be allowed to comment on my life.

Now, I will retreat back to my (safe; there are no people there watching me) kitchen, drink a lovely cup of tea, and organize something.  It's what I do to cope.

Alone.

Well, duh, that shouldn't surprise anyone.  But it occurred to me this week that I haven't really been alone in 28 years.  To quantify it for you, I have spent over half my life with one single person as my best friend. My closest companion.  My other half.   No wonder I feel alone.

The phone calls and visits have nearly stopped.  The mail is now sporadic.  The lasagna offerings have slowed as well, but for that, I am truly thankful. (there is only so much lasagna a person can consume within a season) Please don't think I'm crying for attention because I'm not.  I'm simply stating my observations on the progression of this grief thing and how it seems to follow a linear path most of the time. In some ways I guess I'm glad that my life is not being scrutinized on a daily basis.  No one is watching so closely now for my tears to start falling.  No one is judging the correctness (or incorrectness) of my display of sorrow.  I don't feel like anyone is waiting for me to have some sort of breakdown.  Heck, maybe people are a wee bit bored with it all.  

But I'm awfully lonely.

No person can fill this lonely place.  It's not even a place really.  It's more like a hole, in my heart, in the shape of Bill.

Truly, I'm seldom by myself.  There's always Sarah by my side.  Or another punk.  Maybe a spectator at a baseball game or an acquaintance at a restaurant.  I can't even take a shower these days without an audience.  But it's not the same.

I'm alone because no one can be as interested in what I have to say than Bill was.  No one can worry about me like Bill did.  No one can know just what to say to make me smile like Bill could.  No one can keep me company like him.  I always trusted him--completely.  He was my greatest advocate.  He had my back.

Now, my back couldn't be more exposed.

Maybe that's what loneliness is:  complete exposure to the world without someone to shield and protect  you.  No one to trust.