Grief report, day 32

It’s like a wet blanket, tripping me up as I fake being alive.  Our forecast here today is for a Spring snowstorm, and that kind of cosmic joke suits my mood. I still feel like I’m watching a movie of somebody else’s life, from underwater.  Roll the credits please, and be done with it. When the lights come on, everything will be all right.  But, no.

My purpose now is to keep our little home and its inhabitants going.  They are Frank the jet black, shiny-coated retriever, sad Happycat with her gorgeous golden eyes, and fluffy Lilybit, my Lilybug, a ray of sunshine. She is truly the youngest – observant, quick and feisty. She’s not a “grandstander”, a word from my childhood.  Grandstanders were attention-seeking brats, the worst kind ever.  When Frank rolls over Lilybit in his boundless energy, she rears up on her teeny hind legs and biffs him with her little paw.  She has no fear, just curiosity. When I laugh, it’s because of their antics.

My husband is never coming back.  That punches me in the heart at least ten times a day.

His old gunny sergeant at boot camp gave him some advice: “Keep moving forward, remember your training, and cover your [posterior].” That’s my pep talk to myself, now, as stare out the window.  Thanks for that, hon, it’s solid.  I use it when I feel exhausted, which is all the time, or when I encounter the uneasy folks that need me to reassure them that I’m OK. Huh? No, I’m not. Why would I be? Everything is upside down and inside out.

So I play in the yard with Frank, and retreat to my sanctuary.  Introverts love their silence, and I am one of those.  In the silence I can listen to our favorite songs, and cry.  It took me nine months to cry after Dad died.  I’m not doing that to myself again. Happycat sleeps in my lap now, and her purrs really do slow my heart rate.  That’s nice.

My husband said, “the heroes never came home”, and left his Bronze Star at the Wall. In spite of all, he had a giving, golden heart. He left the world better than he found it.




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