Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Still breathing

And not sure how I'm doing it anymore. Sometimes even thinking of making it through one more minute without him is almost insurmountable pain. I have spent a lot of time with people who are at the point in their grief over this that they want to talk about him. And I'm not there yet. In the beginning, I could because it was shock talking, shock making me move, shock keeping the "balance". It's a pity that shock wears off. Now it's reality and, anytime someone brings him up, my breath is taken away in realizing that those are it for him. Those memories. No new ones to make. I cannot think of the things we have done, or look at his pictures and things...and they are everywhere.

He had a doctor (a foot doctor) who just adored him. Both "Doc" (because that's what everyone calls him) and his receptionist were in love with my husband. He was "like a son" is what they always tell me. That and "He was so in love with you and talked about you all the time." Doc is older and Leonard was one of his only standing appointments (heel spur/injections). Doc couldn't keep his office open on Thursday afternoons for a long time because it hurt too much. But they are at the point where they want to remember things with me... so I listen, I leave, and I cry. And I deal with a splitting headache that almost always comes after. The tension of missing him. No one mentions these things about grief. Grief hurts in the most physical of ways. It pummels, pulls, twists and pinches. There is no relief.

My grandmother wanted to talk about her "favorite grandson" the other day. But her memories are, a lot of the time, made up because a lot of the time she was angry with us for not being able to do something for her...or to stay on my mom's good side. It's complicated. But that kind of memory hurts everywhere. The skin of my scalp hurts after that... because it's a fabrication, but it's still about him and I want to shout,"Why couldn't you love him like that when he was here?" But I don't. I'm done screaming at people.

Yes, these have been some strange, sad days. Days with only work and the daily grind of stuff that has to be done keeping me standing. Yes, this is a pity post. I just can't let go and realize that I can't go back and "fix things".


TGLB said...

It really is a bitch when the numbness wears off, and you're faced with the full reality of the million places in your life and heart where he is missing. This, too, shall pass, but not as smoothly or quickly as you would hope. Just keep on taking it easy.

I was thinking yesterday and today that I'm at the point where I don't really want to talk about my "widow experience" anymore. What I'd really like is to talk about him, with people who knew him well, and that's impossible. Of course, what I truly want is to talk to him. I miss him so.

Hugs and love to you, Laura.

Artemisia said...

Oh, honey. I wish I could carry some of this burden for you. But I am certain there are graces tucked away in this, though it may be along time until they present themselves.

Thinking of you.

Melissa said...

Honey, when it is going to be about you?

Angie said...

I took Olivia to the Hannah Montana movie today and she sang a song about her grandfather dieing. It reminded me of my dad, so here I am, surrounded by screaming teenyboppers, and tears are pouring down my face. Even years after, it's funny how certain things trigger it.
*Big Hugs*

Anonymous said...

Third time trying to leave a comment! This thing does NOT like me, I guess. Hugs to you, Laura! Love, the "other" Laura at Snerkology.

Anonymous said...

I was at the store tonight, and the song "How to Save a Life" started playing. I thought of you and Leonard and cried right there in the store.

Kathy said...

Dear Laura,
Dropping by to say hi. I was hoping that you had had a gentler day. I am sorry that the memories are so painful. Are you 'snow bound' there in Michigan again? My folks are west of you and they are again.

Marshamlow said...

In reference to your Grandma, I have people in my family who live in alternate realities. It can be really frustrating when all you want is for them to acknowledge how much pain they have caused and say sorry.

I am sending hugs and good thoughts.

Rebecca said...

Laura sweetie, you are allowed a pity post. But you’re doing better… the title of this “pity post” is Still Breathing and as long as you’re doing that, you’re doing well.


rachd said...

The numbness has worn off and it really does hurt. I wish there were some way I could ease this for you. I'm here if you ever need *anything*!

Love, prayers and HUGS, Sweetie.

Betts4 said...

Hugs Laura, big hugs for you.

I don't know what to tell you. I am in a strange state of memories now myself.

Hang on kiddo!

Courtney said...

You are aloud to have a pity post, it's YOUR blog. If someone doesn't like it, they don't have to read it. I am so sorry you are hurting so much. I never thought about the shock wearing off and then the pain coming. I am sooooo sorry!

Michele said...

I never knew about the physical pain, but it makes so much sense since our body physically reflects what is going on mentally and emotionally. So "gut-wrenching" is really correct.

I wish I knew what to say. Like Anonymous, I heard John Mayer singing "Dreaming with a Broken Heart" the other day and thought of you and cried. Please avoid that song, especially the first verse.

Nance said...

The fact that you still function through "the daily grind of stuff" is a positive. Grief will always ambush you; it just won't be as breathtaking as time goes on.

Thinking of you, as always.

desperate housewife said...

"Stages of grief" stuff seems so cliche, but it's very true. And I suppose really it's good, because if it hit you all at once it might actually kill you, I think.
I think you are so brave, and it's okay to be angry right now, or sad, or numb, or whatever. Just know that there is a life on the other side of this, and you'll find it eventually.

Gina said...

Keep breathing, my friend!

Thinking of you, and hugs!