Baby I'm Amazed

Baby,

I’m amazed. Amazed that I can take care of paying bills, moving and all the other mundane business since you’ve been gone. I’m amazed that I haven’t fallen to pieces. Amazed that I’m trying to get on with my life.

My life collapsed when I knew you weren’t coming back home alive. I have your ashes (part of them—the rest went to your family) in the bedroom. They don’t count as you really being here.

I don’t think you’d want me to go somewhere, hide from the world and wallow in grief. I’ve tried not to, but it’s hard some days.

I miss you so much. I carry part of you everywhere I go, I know, but I miss the part I can touch. The part I can kiss you on the forehead. The part that let me muss up your hair because I wanted to rub your head.

I’m amazed that we made it to where we did. Between the two of us, it was an uphill battle. But we made it.

I’m amazed that I’d rather be by myself than around other people. They only remind me that you’re gone. I don’t feel it so much when I’m home.

Here, you’re all around me. I want to walk into the bedroom and see you sleeping, but I can’t. Instead, I look at things and remember why we have them and the stories behind them.

You’d like the new place. The kitchen’s bigger, and the floor plan makes it seem more spacious than the old place. I lost 140 square feet, but I don’t really miss them.

The cats are doing well, more or less. Lucy still goes to hang out at the pool outside our old front door. And she doesn’t like having to stay in all day when it’s too cold. You could let her in and out when the weather got bad, but once I leave in the morning, she’s stuck outside all day.

Amanda is adjusting better. Her favorite spot on the bed is still there, so she’s content. She ventured out onto the patio, deemed it acceptable and came back in. She spends most of her day curled up on the bed.

I went to a service at the Methodist Church by the grocery on Koenig on the winter solstice last week. It’s billed as “The Longest Night” because it’s is the longest night and shortest day of the year, but it’s more about the long night of mourning and bereavement that comes with death. I wasn’t the only one there crying.

Christmas wasn’t Christmas without you here. I didn’t think it would be. Without you here to fuss over and cook for, it felt like just another day. I got some nice steelhead trout filets, grilled them and had dinner at home.

I’m learning first-hand why your nerve damage was so frustrating. I’ve been walking with a cane for the last 2 ½ weeks because of problems with my knee. My knee and the thigh directly above it alternate between numbness, sharp pain and an intense burning sensation. Sometimes it travels down my shin into my foot.

You’d be proud of me: I actually went to the doctor. He ruled out Parkinson’s, diabetes and thyroid problems, then referred me to a neurologist. I have an MRI and an EMG scheduled for next week.

Walking with a cane is tricky, I’ve learned. Doing so only leaves me with one hand, and trying to find somewhere to prop it when I need both hands is a total bitch. It keeps falling over.

You know I loved you, and I will forever. It’s one thing death can’t kill. If I let it, death would kill my spirit, but I’m not allowing it to. I know that, no matter how many times I ask why, I’ll never get a good answer. The “why” questions usually have no answer in this context.

Don’t spend your time worrying about me. In time, I’ll be okay. I might even be happy again one day. Part of me has remained happy because of the years we had together. It’s not always obvious, and sometimes, finding that happiness seems almost impossible. It’s buried under layer after layer of pain and grief and loss.

But I will survive. I hate to quote Donna Summer (not really), but “I’ve got all my life live and all my love to give, and I’ll survive. I will survive”.

I know that your worrying about me came from a place of love, but you worried too much. I’m devastated and grieving, but I’m doing okay. Not great, but okay.

At this point, “okay” is a good thing.

As I said, I’m amazed that I’m not falling apart. I must be stronger than I thought, and part of that must be because of you.

I’ll see you on the other side.

JM