Month 9 Update

Dear Peoples,

9th months since our Jack left our physical presence. Can you believe it? We've all moved on, in our jobs, our lives, our day-to-day existence. There are times that his memory floods back to the forefront or his presence and comfort is desperately needed; his absence is keenly felt. A moment, a recollection, a flashback from in-the-now experience. He is far from gone.

For me, I have had the painful awareness of the distance growing between what "we were" and "what I am." I initially grieved his absence, his leaving, the quiet without him. I am now grieving that I am living and managing, even growing without him. It's not that I don't still cry, almost daily, facing situations that bellow "we" and "ours," but, I am building my world around his absence. I am living my life without him, and I almost want to apologize to him for doing it. Then, I hear his voice in my heart that says, "Go on" and I do, often with tears and resistance.

It all started with my buying a new dining room table this month, something that Jack could have liked, but wasn't part of the decision-making process. I acutely was aware of that absence of a "second opinion." I did it without him. Also, I hired a contractor to begin the remodel what we always dreamed of doing together. It is done partly in that memory and for my own comfort, for me, for my house. A friend came over and helped sort one more phrase of his clothes to be donated to two charities. His closets are now 3/4th empty and his dresser drawers are totally. (I still cannot give away his dress clothes and I figured out why: they were worn on such special dates and/or for special occasions. They carry too many tied-on emotional ribbons, of which I am not ready to let go.... yet. I can go in that closet, pull the clothes around my nose and body, and sob at my loss, which signals that I am not ready.) I cleaned off his half of the bathroom sink, donating the items to a charity, keeping only his cologne, so I can smell him and memories at any time. I re-ordered my 5th Avenue Theatre season tickets (yes, I kept the subscription at two) and added another local awesome theatre subscription(for one), inviting others to join me as a part of an "Adventure Club." My life is going on...without him. I leaving the "we" behind in my living moments. It is becoming time to make choices and I find myself saying goodbye to what was, something of his, something of us. He will be forever in my heart. And I cry that I am, that I can.

The theme song from the movie, "The Titanic," which was Celine Dion's ending song to her concert this past December says it all: "My Heart Will Go On." I just have to make it "right" when it feels so "wrong" to be embracing the fun, the joy, the new, the excitement of life without him by my side. I am doing it, still missing his companionship in the moment. My heart AND life are going on. FYI: I cry deeply hearing that song. I know the words speak of my heart and life.

I knew the months between Jack's passing and his first anniversary would be filled with other losses. On March 22nd, my mother passed away, after a long time of deteriorating health. I had said my goodbyes two weeks beforehand and was only waiting for the call. This is news for some of you on this link. What I ask for is not to send cards, but for you to do a random act of kindness to counterbalance. I leave it at that; no explanation as to why of this request. Please just consider it.

My brother Mark came up from Arizona and was of great comfort. I can't tell you how many times that the conversation was so fluid and comfortable that I called him "Jack." How startled I was that I had said that, and how I was so keenly aware that Jack wasn't here...again, as I corrected myself. And how many times that I desperately needed Jack by my side, his arms around me, his words of comfort, his reality checks. I truly know that I cried for losing him, again, more than my mother now, in the moments of this week. It was all so fresh to feel his loss, again. The house suddenly became quieter and my life lonelier coming home from the rosary on Wednesday, the mass on Thursday, and dropping Mark off at the airport on Friday.
This is a relatively short blog entry. I find myself exhausted and depleted of any further thought to add tonight. I skipped a whole week of journal writing, too, which is unlike my usual routine, but tells me that my heart and body are wanting to take over, demanding rest. So, I shall.

In the here and now,
Tally

P.S. I have decided to close this blog at the one year mark, with June 28th being my final entry. I shall begin to formally put my journal, the blog notes, and miscellaneous notes into my book of this journey. In his death, I have my voice in my words. What a gift he gave! Gads, I miss him.