Month 10 Update

Dear Peoples,

In my dream, I was driving alone to the cabin through Blewett Pass. There's a campground there (really is). I look down and I see Jack. He is wearing sky blue shorts, a madras plaid shirt (he had one when we first dated), and an ivory Carrigan sweater (which he has never owned; I bought him one once, discovered that he didn't like that style of sweater, and off to the Goodwill it went.). He has a small totally black dog on a red leash and the dog is pulling him to go on. He is smiling at me, as I drive by. I begin to frantically wave at him, feeling so excited to see him, and wanting him to wave back with the same enthusiasm. But, his right hand stays on his hip and he just smiles at me. As I continue pass the campground heading towards the cabin, I know that he is continuing in the other direction, but I think, "If he hurries up and gets in the car, he could turn around and catch-up with me."

Then, just last week, I was searching in the basement storage closet for a box to mail something. I find his radio-control car, and my first thought was, "Oh, he forgot to take this with him." I am stunned when I realize this means. There was not an emotional response, not a "Oh, we had so much fun with these cars." I had removed enough of his possessions that finding one sent me down a totally different path.

Those two incidents sums up well the 10th month. I still cling to some snippet of wanting him desperately back with me, desperately wanting what we had together back now. Yet, on some level, I know that we are continuing in different directions and I must go on. If nothing else, I am glad some canine soul found him in the next life and I will treasure this dream, as it is still quite vivid in my head now as when it happened. (Dream insights: I definitely dream in color and Jack is dressing himself in the next life.)

There are still "sacred" corners, shelves, places where I have not moved his possessions. But there are fewer of them now. And even those places are not as "sacred" as they once were. I am entering a new place, a place where I want it to be for me, recognizing it is also without him, as I make changes to the house. I am saddened by these changes, as I know I am removing what was "ours," and that is what is essence of what that "sacredness."

I look around the house and see how much I have changed. The piles and incomplete projects, the start and stops, are numerous. "Ms. File Everything" has what her brother calls, "Horizonal Filing:" a stack of papers on the floor in front of the file cabinets. I am moving my study from upstairs down to what was Jack's. (Oh, Freudian slip there: I had typed, "what is Jack's." Caught it and "ouch" to my heart.) I have decided that when I totally take over his/my work room, I will have to paint it a different color. Again, removing his color is a reminder of removing another of his possession.

I have some carpal tunnel issues, and I think that having to do ALL the gardening and paperwork has aggravated that joint.

I still don't watch much TV and am not comfortable in the family room yet. I so feel his absence in that room. I can easily see his body on the couch, TV on (always too loud for me). It is the one place that I simply EXPECT him to be and am startled each time that he is not there and I am dragged back into the reality that he won't ever be, again and again, when I go downstairs.

Same goes for the sports section of the paper, which he always read first. I am finding that I am reading it more than I ever did before. Sometimes, I see something that he would have read to me. Now, I say to him, "Look at this, Jack, can you believe this?" or "Jack would have loved this team."

Probably the most significant progress at this very moment is the weight the 28th of the month has. That number still causes an ache, but it is more of a number now, and a reminder that I am continuing on. And, conversely, just as I finished putting a period onto that sentence, tears started rolling down my cheeks, and I find that I still miss him deeply. Three steps forward, one back in my new direction. Such is my new normal.

In the hear and now,
Tally