October 22, it is now three months since David passed away.
When asked if I have moved on yet - I am at first angry, then incredibly sad. What does that even mean? To pick myself up! Really, for this loss?
Is it only younger spouses who are told to move on and pick yourself up? Are people too scared to ask that of older people, in case they have a heart attack and actually do move on?
Of course I'm doing my best to keep going. I have no choice. As much as I have always been strong and independent, occasionally I really want a hug and pleasant plans.
I am blessed to have days when I feel connected and certain that I can cope. While other days are suffocating and I am amazed that I even try to continue. Healing is top of my to do list and I'm taking great care not to listen to my negative voice that does not approve of when I do absolutely nothing. Wanting to talk about David and my current concerns is perfectly natural and even required. Crying is to healing as frosting is to a cupcake.
I sleep most nights downstairs on the couch with the TV running. I only sleep well because of sleeping pills. I do not feel sorry for myself, it's just how I am right now. My focus is limited. I am often late and get easily confused. For anyone wanting to employ my freelance services: I am always on time and have a keen awareness of everything around me.
My hope and humor is still intact, especially as I have heart-fulls of memories that guide and support me. Each month brings something that hurts, yet more importantly things that are familiar and kind.
David and I adored Halloween. This will be another occasion to face. My Mum and Aunt Violet will be arriving tomorrow from London (hurray) and we will decorate the front door steps, put on witches hats and give out candy to make David proud.
October 2006 or 2007 I had both David and our dear friend Scott Winters narrating ghost stories on a Halloween train ride through a zoo. I was a witch jumping out from the woods, frightening myself more than the guests! I enjoyed hearing their booming voices, the spooky stories growing funnier and more theatrical as the season went on.
October 2002, David was teaching and one day he dressed as Dr.Seuss - Cat in the Hat. His entire class could not stop screaming, poor things. When he realized they were scared, he pulled the mask off, which made it worse as the children thought the Cat in the Hat had eaten their teacher! I was there to be the storyteller, and spent the time counseling on the art and danger of imagination.
David loved to entertain and share time in the buoyancy of conversation. In a costume or not, with a funny accent or his warm deep voice, we were never far from laughter. Other people and then his illness attacked this gift tremendously. I trust now, that he is receiving as much love and admiration that he has deserved all of his life.
David - I hope to find some empty candy wrappers hidden around the house, like I used to on October 31st. I miss you so much, and I know you know that. Nothing is the same without you.
Love you always. Thank you for showing me how.
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