Christmas cards have started rolling in. Most years I looked forward to this because I loved the sending and the receiving-reading about the updates among our family and friends, and letting them know ours. And now, it's this year. The first two cards were addressed to Mr and Mrs. Our Last Name (it's not like it's too hard to figure out, me being all transparent about those things but this makes me feel better). They were written by two people who (obviously) didn't know. One, a coworker from a place he used to work. The second, our old next door neighbors. These things make it seem not real. I mean it can't be real. This can't have happened. I don't want it to have happened. I still think, somehow, I can change this. I am full of it. The proper thing to do would be to write them and let them know... I don't want to. My twisted mind thinks that, if they don't know, then maybe it's like he is a little bit alive still... because I think crazy thoughts like that all the time. And I really, really, really NEED for him to be alive. How would one go about letting them know after so much time has passed...? Scratch that. How could one go about letting them know after three and a half months have passed and she, herself, doesn't yet get it?
I'm not sending out cards this year because there isn't really anything to say. Today was a really bad day. I most of the time feel like I am living in a parallel universe. I sometimes think that I think too much about it. Today, as I was putting the beads on the tree, I wanted to pull it down (the tree) and throw the ornaments. Today, as my father was talking to me I wanted to scream,"shut up! shut up! SHUT UP!!!" I want to make this stop.
The television special "For One More Day" is coming out (this weekend, I think). I read the book when it came out. My thoughts have changed since I lost Leonard. One More Day wouldn't make a difference. In my case at least. It would just be one more day of loving him...and still feeling the tremendous loss...because that Saturday would have been a perfect One More Day. If only I was okay with it being only one more day. I know this paragraph doesn't make much sense, but it does...to me. If I were to have one more day, I would still feel cheated at its end. I would still be angry, and sad, and ripped apart, and needy. I would ask for more. Because I am selfish. Because it never would have been enough. Forever, with this wonderful man, would not have been enough. Because I lived in fear of this day even when I thought it would happen much later in my life.
Pictures. I have tons of pictures. And the boards for the service that are exactly where they were put when we got home. I can't look at them. Today I gave voice and life to the words, "I am afraid I will never be able to look at my beautiful husband's face again." It gets worse. It is almost a phobia. I am afraid to look at my husband's face for fear that this pain will spiral out of control.
If you usually get a Christmas card from me I am very sorry.