Inspection and Introspection
And how crazy it is that I can't get away from either.
It’s been just over three months since Ed died and I’m no closer to figuring out what’s next than I was the day it happened. It’s as if my days are spent now, when I’m not filling out paperwork or agonizing over red tape, trying to decide who I am and how I’m reacting to each new thing.
It can get maddening when it’s not fascinating, and that’s where I am now—in that place where everything I do is a change from the way I did it before. The team has broken up and only one of us is left. And the one left is spending way too much time analyzing every thought, every move, afraid to make long-lasting mistakes, yet exhilarated at the prospect of trying new things.
I’m that slightly insane widder-woman.
On the list so far:
Learning Spanish. (Two years of it in high school but never used.)
Getting a passport (I’ve never had one and who knows when it’ll come in handy.)
Finding a keyboard and creating my own music.
Writing letters on real stationery with a good pen. (I’ve been re-reading old letters from old friends. They’re almost sacred now.)
Wearing dresses again. Maybe something slightly flamboyant.
Taking a trip by myself. (That one’s still in the heady ‘Could I really??’ stage.)
Finishing at least one of the four novels I’ve started over the years.
Buying a new laptop. (Done! Arrives tomorrow! My loyal Dell refuses to type the ‘W’ every time and it’s slowing down to a crawl. Feels like it weighs 100 lbs., too. It’s time…)
Writing essays like this one seems self-indulgent, which is why I haven’t been around much, and honestly, it’s feeling like a chore. I’m fussing over everything these days, and that includes words.
For example: I chose the words ‘since Ed died’ over ‘since I lost my husband’ after pondering for what seemed like forever over which phrase says exactly what I mean. Most of you knew little about Ed before he died, and even now you’ll only know what I’ll allow you to know, but he has a name and if we’re going to be friends here, there are times I’ll have to let you in.
Did I lose him? No, not really. But he did die. Dammit. I want him here with me right now. He isn’t lost, he’s just…missing. Nothing about him will ever be lost. I’ll hold him right here forever. Which in my case is not as long as you might think. Something else I’m having to ponder over. So you can see how busy I am.
I’ll learn to live with the things that trigger my memories because removing them now is unthinkable. I’ve given away bags full of stuff, but I’ve kept little things, like his favorite jacket, his Hawaiian shirts from our life on Maui, a comb still in the wrapper, and one white undershirt. (I have no idea why.)
It’s going to be that way. Things aren’t always going to make sense. But I’m happy to be here, and I’m happy you’re here, and this has been nice. Thanks.
(Next time I’m going to tell you about cottage life. I’m working on it!)
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