It is hard to believe it has been four weeks for completely opposite reasons. First, time has slowed to an uncomfortable, never ending crawl. I feel like if I spent my days watching the hands of a clock tick by the hands would stutter in protest with every single move. The other reason is that before this happened, I thought there was no way that if anything happened to my husband that I would survive a single day without my heart simply giving up. It didn’t give up, despite my utter indifference if it had decided to do so.
A majority of my time now is spent alone. Some people still call and ask if they can come over. The answer to that (unless it is a rare day where I actually have to leave the house) is always an enthusiastic yes. Mostly, I get a lot of “Call me if you need anything”. People mean well when they say this, but what I actually need besides the impossible obvious is to be asked to spend time with me with a specific time and place so I can say yes or no. I am very bad at asking for help and it would be humiliating to call someone up and say “I’m not doing anything, but I need another human being to sit with me as I do nothing so I can experience someone else simply breathing around me.” Other people have the blissful advantage of still having their lives in tact with one missing factor so getting back to the usual is easier. For me, everything I do, every thought I have, and every decision I struggle to make is accompanied with the thought “My husband is dead.” I am consumed with this fact and it governs my entire existence. I don’t know what to do.
Last night was actually nice. A friend of mine, her husband, and two year old asked if they could come over and have dinner with me. Like I said above, that is the way to do it! I said yes because I had no plan and Fridays have been tough since his seizure began just before midnight Friday, July 25 so it is kind of like having two death anniversary dates. One for when it started and less than an hour later when it ended technically on July 26.
My first thought upon accepting their invitation to keep me company was it actually sounded good to cook. This involved my first trip to the grocery store by myself since he died, which is a testament to just how much shopping was done for me in the early days to stock me up on everything I may need. I used to shop alone all the time, but this time besides buying the components of a basic meal, I was also shopping with only my own needs involved. There was no looking for an unusual item to buy in order to surprise my husband. It was just essentials. It was depressing. But like everything else I do nowadays, I just popped on the auto pilot and got it done. One more hurdle down, a few million to go.
It did feel good to cook. I had been not doing it because even though it seems simple to just cut what I would usually make in half, the idea of doing that has been a huge mental stumbling block. This was a chance to cook for several people. It was kinda perfect. I hope they let me cook for them again some time and it was nice to have help cleaning up.
I keep looking for some deeper meaning to everything that has happened and have decided there is none. The impact of his absence on me and his sister, the sudden ceasing of his important, selfless work, and the void he left behind cannot be attributed to any greater plan or purpose. It is a cruel joke no one is laughing at. My goal is to just ride out this wave and figure out how to give my own life greater purpose, to have a plan for me, and decades from now go to my own grave laughing. For today, I will simply sit as I am accustomed to being, completely and utterly alone.