oh my god
how bad does this hurt? Closing down the house for the night checking that door is locked, it hits me this is your life this is your life, a life without your chris, alone alone, one by yourself. for the next 20 years ( hopefully not longer)
I can't breathe I can't think I am suffocating with the the thought the crashing reality that this is it, he is not coming back he will never be here for me.... for us. where is he? where is he why can't I be with him why is their some meta physical energy holding us back?
the pain is go strong I am moaning and and sighing as I type this my chest hurts I want to die
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
day 80
I dreamt last night that I was back at the Ventian, descending a stair case at the botom of the stiarcase was Chris, he was holding a bunch of books and a camera. I knew it couldn't be him in the dream (aren't I allowed to be with him even in my dreams?) I sat on the sair and begged him to stop.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
day 79
I realized something today. I will never be able to think of Chris with fondness, as in my deceased husband who I cherished and loved and who was so so good to me, when a thought of a thought like that runs through my mind I push it away because to feel that means to acknowledge that his death not his life.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
the joy of sex
It occurred to me that I will never know the caresses of Chris. It came out of the blue, on day 77. i have missed him in so many ways why does this only occurr to me now? And it does not seep into my psyche, it hits me like a slap across the face......this is what you will never have again No warm kisses, no strong arms around me, no caresses, no sweet lovemaking, or rough love making, or wild lovemaking or any or all that we shared in the physical realm. I will never hold hands with him, kiss his ears, stroke his neck. I will never know the expression of our love in the physical sense. I will forever be deprived of that pleasure, release and comfort. I will not have his tenderness, his warmth or his passion again. The pain f this realization is searing, even the tears that flow freely feel like they are scorching my face I can feel the redness of my flushed face and can barely see the text I am typing.
This is the end of my sexual self. It has died the same day as my my lover died. It is being destroyed much like his body was consumed by cremation.
All that is left of either of us is ash.
This is the end of my sexual self. It has died the same day as my my lover died. It is being destroyed much like his body was consumed by cremation.
All that is left of either of us is ash.
Monday, June 15, 2009
June 15th
74 days
I was making the bed last at night.....washed the sheets that were limp from a weekend in bed. I thought that this is the third time the sheets have been washed and the bed remade since he is gone. We always did it together before going to bed and relished in the clean and momentarily dog hair free experience. our nightly kiss seemed sweeter when the sheets were clean and the room returned to its spa like cleanliness. (the sheet changing time always triggered a cleaning tirade for the bedroom for me).
I remember Andrea washing the sheets after they took his body away in the hearse. I wondered what was on them. Sweat? The last perspiration of a dying man. Water from his body leaching out onto the bed, DNA tears. He hadn't eaten or drank anything significant in days.....the last thing he might have had was the raw food vegetable soup I made. He did not finish it, it is still in the fridge. I can't throw it away. In group they said to put it in the garden, but that would just encourage the weeds to grow more.
I fell or lapsed into bed. Decided to try mediation again with headphones......lie there on my side with the other side of the bed so absent so vacuous like the air had been sucked out of it.
I can barely concentrate to the sounds on the CD my mind reviewing for the millionth time his last moments, the struggle then the silence. The silence now is the same.
I was making the bed last at night.....washed the sheets that were limp from a weekend in bed. I thought that this is the third time the sheets have been washed and the bed remade since he is gone. We always did it together before going to bed and relished in the clean and momentarily dog hair free experience. our nightly kiss seemed sweeter when the sheets were clean and the room returned to its spa like cleanliness. (the sheet changing time always triggered a cleaning tirade for the bedroom for me).
I remember Andrea washing the sheets after they took his body away in the hearse. I wondered what was on them. Sweat? The last perspiration of a dying man. Water from his body leaching out onto the bed, DNA tears. He hadn't eaten or drank anything significant in days.....the last thing he might have had was the raw food vegetable soup I made. He did not finish it, it is still in the fridge. I can't throw it away. In group they said to put it in the garden, but that would just encourage the weeds to grow more.
I fell or lapsed into bed. Decided to try mediation again with headphones......lie there on my side with the other side of the bed so absent so vacuous like the air had been sucked out of it.
I can barely concentrate to the sounds on the CD my mind reviewing for the millionth time his last moments, the struggle then the silence. The silence now is the same.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
my husband is dead
lying on the couch watchcing no reservations.......it just hits me like a wave of sorrow. He is dead, he is not coming back I will be here alone in this house my new prison until I die. I heave sobs that well up insede me and bubble be to the surface.....eah bubble burstin into a pop of pain they break the surface and pop over and over again. I am helpless to stop them. I try to get off the couch and can barely move. go to bed I tell my self I urge my muscles to move to sit up the popping slows, i sit up only to be grereted by another wave of sobs and pops get up get up.....I stagger to the bedroom and fall onto the bed next to the dog I hold her and cry until I am asleep
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
jumba
6/10/09Andrea and Steve coming for dinner; Mac invited them. And told me via text only now it is me cooking because Mac can’t be there til 6:30.When will I learn? Don’t want people here waste of time.I decided to walk the dog to at least get some exercise in. Listeningto scissor after Adam. Heard the song “The Other Side”
What will one dayBecome of usWe'll grow as grass under their feetNo one here will ever know your nameAnd you still lie here next to me
If it takes another lifeI'll wait for youOn the other sideEverything that comes to meAs goodBelongs to youI'll count our blessings as IWait for youOn the other sideGood luck and I will see you through
Get used to thisYou're going to be alrightThe world goes on with or without meIf I don't ever leave a thing behindI'll still leave you without me
If it takes another lifeI'll wait for youOn the other sideEverything that comes to meAs goodBelongs to youI'll count our blessings as IWait for youOn the other sideGood luck and I will see you throughCried the whole time walking, listening crying. Got home turned on thevault for some relief from my boy and started dinner. Decided to havea couple of beers to settle down. It worked.Was numb and able to finish making the jambalaya and salad as Mac andSteve trickled in. Andrea wanted Samantha to tell me something, butSamantha was not cooperating. She did eventually tell me that she wasgoing to be a big ____? I surmised it was sister and that Andrea waspregnant. I immediately calculated in my head when Andrea must havegotten pregnant was it 49 days after Chris died? Was this to be hisincarnation?How ironic the couple he encouraged to stay apart even telling Steveto “run like the wind” during one of their early, dramatic and timelimited “break ups”…. Now they would become the vessel for him to bereborn. Andrea said she was due on the 20th of January----andmentioned the whole one person dying and a soul being reborn…..
I move throughout dinner and clean up in a fog. Where is Chris? Whereis he why can’t I reach him, or why can’t he reach me? I just want totalk to him I scream in side as I pass the rice. No one seems tonotice I am welling up, perhaps they chalk it up to the spicy shrimpsauce. I keep playing songs on the vault that I can know operate likea pro or at least half as good as Chris. God when these will peopleleave I think as Andrea gets dessert ready. Something I would not havetouched except for the fact that I now have sufficient alcohol in mysystem that something sweet is appealing. Savory girl turns sweettooth….just add BUD light!I share my 3 hour ordeal getting the vault turned on with Steveincluding the mysterious appearance of Alanis Morissette in the Fdrive (is that F for Fuck you Karen?)He appears smug and tells me he can get it fixed so that the vault canread my disk drive. Why bother I ask? It’s working now and I think Iwill keep it this way. Besides no one touches Chris stuff anymore.
Finally they leave I start the clean up making love to my gas cook topwith the magic cleaner and magic cloth. Of course this is the partthat gets bittersweet. Chris unused to ask me if I was cleaning orcaressing the kitchen parts. I do live it or did, now I look around ateverything he built and it feels like I don’t want to be near it. Orlike I want to seal it off with plastic a kind of Smithsonian tributeto the masterpiece of his renovation talents. If only.I worry that something will break or get stained and I won’t be ableto get it to look like it did when he finished. I haven’t had amishaps but I am sure the time will come.
I make a play list called missing Chris with the Scissors sisters AJoan Jett song and of course Michael Bolton. It is during the Bostonblast of missing you that Gary stops over. (Aha so the parade ofstrange people showing up at odd times and days has not stopped.
Gary was the architect for the infamous 3rd floor that we were to addto the house but which we both silently abandoned because we both knewwithout sharing with each other where the cancer thing wasgoing…….going to a place where a third floor was unnecessary and wouldonly plunge me into debt. It was a nice dream……..and it would havebeen spectacular. But it was not meant to be.So Gary comes in with graham his Shepard dog. (Aurora is so excitedthat another dog is in the house she pees on the floor!He just figured out that Chirrs is dead….noticed cars in the driveway,out of state plates, cars in the driveway. He knew Chris was sick andso he had a hunch---goggled Chris and saw the obit. He was shocked,numb and shocked. So of course the natural thing to do is bother thewidow, right? At ten o clock at night when stoned (he reeked) I lethim in, offered him a beer……after all his little marina is the key tomy water view. It sits on the water directly across the street formthe Love Shack (Chris pert name for house conviently numbered “52”after the B-52’s-after all it’s all about the music.
So Gary has some leftover red wine, and wants to hear about the death.I tell him the short sanitized version. He was sick, went into thehospital, came home and died.After awhile Gary asks so what else is new? My husband is DEAD Iscream in my head…..what more could be exciting for me? I redirect. Imake him listen to Adam. I show him Adam magazines, more Adam, morecompare and contrast: Led Zeplin Adam’s version; Johnny Cash: Adam’sversion. HE is at first blown away, but wants to hear an Adamoriginal. I try to explain the American Idol concept ( it’s a singingcompetition and they do covers) he wasn’t having any….still insist heneeds to hear a Lambert original song (don’t we all) OMG I am justfueled into getting him to concede that Adam is the greatest singer ofall time, I speak of octaves, ranges b (a) notes. Nothing impresses.Ok I pull up Citizen Vein “circle” he likes it although it is you tubeand computer speakers, not the surround sound. He does offer acompliment. He says Adam has a great voice ok !! Now you can go home Ithink.He eventually does after ooohinh and ahhhing about Chris masterpiecethe kitchen, he had never seen it. He remarks what a great guy Chriswas how smart, how special (is he trying to make me cry?)
He fiannly leaves and I go straight to bed leaving the rest of themess until the morning.
What will one dayBecome of usWe'll grow as grass under their feetNo one here will ever know your nameAnd you still lie here next to me
If it takes another lifeI'll wait for youOn the other sideEverything that comes to meAs goodBelongs to youI'll count our blessings as IWait for youOn the other sideGood luck and I will see you through
Get used to thisYou're going to be alrightThe world goes on with or without meIf I don't ever leave a thing behindI'll still leave you without me
If it takes another lifeI'll wait for youOn the other sideEverything that comes to meAs goodBelongs to youI'll count our blessings as IWait for youOn the other sideGood luck and I will see you throughCried the whole time walking, listening crying. Got home turned on thevault for some relief from my boy and started dinner. Decided to havea couple of beers to settle down. It worked.Was numb and able to finish making the jambalaya and salad as Mac andSteve trickled in. Andrea wanted Samantha to tell me something, butSamantha was not cooperating. She did eventually tell me that she wasgoing to be a big ____? I surmised it was sister and that Andrea waspregnant. I immediately calculated in my head when Andrea must havegotten pregnant was it 49 days after Chris died? Was this to be hisincarnation?How ironic the couple he encouraged to stay apart even telling Steveto “run like the wind” during one of their early, dramatic and timelimited “break ups”…. Now they would become the vessel for him to bereborn. Andrea said she was due on the 20th of January----andmentioned the whole one person dying and a soul being reborn…..
I move throughout dinner and clean up in a fog. Where is Chris? Whereis he why can’t I reach him, or why can’t he reach me? I just want totalk to him I scream in side as I pass the rice. No one seems tonotice I am welling up, perhaps they chalk it up to the spicy shrimpsauce. I keep playing songs on the vault that I can know operate likea pro or at least half as good as Chris. God when these will peopleleave I think as Andrea gets dessert ready. Something I would not havetouched except for the fact that I now have sufficient alcohol in mysystem that something sweet is appealing. Savory girl turns sweettooth….just add BUD light!I share my 3 hour ordeal getting the vault turned on with Steveincluding the mysterious appearance of Alanis Morissette in the Fdrive (is that F for Fuck you Karen?)He appears smug and tells me he can get it fixed so that the vault canread my disk drive. Why bother I ask? It’s working now and I think Iwill keep it this way. Besides no one touches Chris stuff anymore.
Finally they leave I start the clean up making love to my gas cook topwith the magic cleaner and magic cloth. Of course this is the partthat gets bittersweet. Chris unused to ask me if I was cleaning orcaressing the kitchen parts. I do live it or did, now I look around ateverything he built and it feels like I don’t want to be near it. Orlike I want to seal it off with plastic a kind of Smithsonian tributeto the masterpiece of his renovation talents. If only.I worry that something will break or get stained and I won’t be ableto get it to look like it did when he finished. I haven’t had amishaps but I am sure the time will come.
I make a play list called missing Chris with the Scissors sisters AJoan Jett song and of course Michael Bolton. It is during the Bostonblast of missing you that Gary stops over. (Aha so the parade ofstrange people showing up at odd times and days has not stopped.
Gary was the architect for the infamous 3rd floor that we were to addto the house but which we both silently abandoned because we both knewwithout sharing with each other where the cancer thing wasgoing…….going to a place where a third floor was unnecessary and wouldonly plunge me into debt. It was a nice dream……..and it would havebeen spectacular. But it was not meant to be.So Gary comes in with graham his Shepard dog. (Aurora is so excitedthat another dog is in the house she pees on the floor!He just figured out that Chirrs is dead….noticed cars in the driveway,out of state plates, cars in the driveway. He knew Chris was sick andso he had a hunch---goggled Chris and saw the obit. He was shocked,numb and shocked. So of course the natural thing to do is bother thewidow, right? At ten o clock at night when stoned (he reeked) I lethim in, offered him a beer……after all his little marina is the key tomy water view. It sits on the water directly across the street formthe Love Shack (Chris pert name for house conviently numbered “52”after the B-52’s-after all it’s all about the music.
So Gary has some leftover red wine, and wants to hear about the death.I tell him the short sanitized version. He was sick, went into thehospital, came home and died.After awhile Gary asks so what else is new? My husband is DEAD Iscream in my head…..what more could be exciting for me? I redirect. Imake him listen to Adam. I show him Adam magazines, more Adam, morecompare and contrast: Led Zeplin Adam’s version; Johnny Cash: Adam’sversion. HE is at first blown away, but wants to hear an Adamoriginal. I try to explain the American Idol concept ( it’s a singingcompetition and they do covers) he wasn’t having any….still insist heneeds to hear a Lambert original song (don’t we all) OMG I am justfueled into getting him to concede that Adam is the greatest singer ofall time, I speak of octaves, ranges b (a) notes. Nothing impresses.Ok I pull up Citizen Vein “circle” he likes it although it is you tubeand computer speakers, not the surround sound. He does offer acompliment. He says Adam has a great voice ok !! Now you can go home Ithink.He eventually does after ooohinh and ahhhing about Chris masterpiecethe kitchen, he had never seen it. He remarks what a great guy Chriswas how smart, how special (is he trying to make me cry?)
He fiannly leaves and I go straight to bed leaving the rest of themess until the morning.
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