Reinforces exactly why I am moving. This might be the third worst day of my life, still a bit far behind the second worst day of my life and miles lagging behind the number one spot, but it's the kind of night where I just want to throw battery acid in my eyes to distract me from my troubles, or maybe stick a freshly sharpened pencil really hard into my ear just to mix up the mood a bit. I can't even blog about what happened because it's partially not my business to tell. If you're that curious, just ask me over email or something and became a captive audience to me tales of strife as a single mom. But not here. Just can't do it here.
Allow me to take my mind off of my issues by completely turning my focus around for a few minutes. If I don't, I will surely go crazy. I've been having Undertoad (see The World According to Garp for the definition) Moments all day long. Probably has a lot to do with going to the funeral parlor to pick up a receipt for Rob's funeral. I mean, they're really nice and all over there, but I just can't get around the fact that that was the last place I saw my husband.
Well, that's sort of a weird way to start your day. I thought to myself about how great it was going to be to hopefully NEVER drive by there again, never see it again, and then I remembered that I still actually own a house in this town. I just might have to come back someday. Also, it's a given that someone else in my family will be having their own funeral there eventually and so I'm sure I'll actually be inside that place again. Hmmm. So, no closure on that end.
So of course just being in there gets the old imagination rolling along. The color of the shirt, literally darkened by tears. People who were, things that were said, the way everything looked, the scent of the flowers, the feel of the velvet-lined chairs in the front row. The very last time I saw him, how sorry I felt that he wasn't going to wake up the next day and take us to the beach.
I found myself driving about, running my errands, thinking about these things in the drizzling rain. I no longer ask the question "why?" but damned if I know the answer. The short answer is: because his body just couldn't do it any longer. The bigger answer eludes me still, and maybe it always will.
I've said time and time again that maybe generations from now one of my relatives, far, far down the line will know. Maybe someone will inherit my love of geneology and twists of fate. They might look through an old photo album filled with pictures of their great, great, great-grandparents and discover the unusual story that unfolded in our lives and see some kind of positive meaning in it for them.
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