The first half of last week, I didn’t want to pay any bills or make any phone calls starting with “John died so I need to…” Fill in the blank. I just wanted to be with my kids-especially since Izzy started back at school. She is happy and having a great time but it was hard to let her go. I say good bye to her and when she turns and walks into the school, that is when I cry. I am lost without her during the day but I don’t let her know this. She doesn’t know that I count the seconds until I see her.
KitKat has become clingy. This morning, all morning, she was heart to heart with me. Hugging me. Smelling me. Asking if I was going to leave her. She wants all three of us to be together.
I have spent time with friends. I watch them cry for me and the kids. I can’t cry with them. I just stare. It’s not that I don’t appreciate them reaching out. I just can’t meet them half way at this point. I want to. They share their experiences with loss and I am so glad they can talk about it with me.
The shock is shocking. I am waiting for the grieving process to start up again.
I am so exhausted. When I go out to do something (meeting someone, going to get something at a store, etc.), I need to nap. My body needs to rest-so does my mind. I just need that escape in the middle of the day.
The Saturday after John died, I had a friend and bandmate pick up his drums. It hurt to much to look at them or think they were here in the house. Actually, the day he died, when I got home and opened the door, the first thing I saw was his bass drum. Those drums were a big part of our relationship. I would help him bring them in and out of the car when we were dating. When we moved to Brooklyn, they took up most of our tiny studio apartment. In our house, the drum set was scattered. Some in the music room and some in the basement. I would tell him to put the bass drum somewhere else and he never would. If I could write a book about our relationship, it would be a dud, however, if I wrote a book about me, John and his drums, I know it would be a bestseller.
Last week, I took the furniture out of the music room. I couldn’t go in it. It was his favorite place to be. We had two modern green chairs and a retro record cabinet, a keyboard and other instruments. It was his room to be in to listen to music and have other musicians to hang out with in there. John even said the acoustics in the room were great. I was looking for a modern rug and some New York prints. Since the room is in the front of the house, I pass it every time I go in and out. I always expected to see him sitting in one of the chairs and looking outside like he always did. I wonder why it hurt so much. I wonder why I had to change that. I thought it would give me comfort but I couldn’t look in there anymore. Why is that? I moved the girls toys in there and later, will make it into a Japanese room for us.
When I put the green chairs in the living area, Izzy asked me about it and then asked if I was going to get rid of her father’s clothes. I quickly answered no. I felt very protective of them. I am not ready to let that go yet. Is it because furniture is so easy to move back in it’s place, but clothes you can’t get back if the fantasy ever comes true he will walk through that door again? Or is it that I can still “touch” him if I had his shirts around?
Everyone needs a death certificate it seems. The doctor made a mistake with the spelling of his name so I wait. It seems like moving forward and all the changes I have made, I am at a stand still.