One Year Out, Babe.

A year ago right now, you were spending your last day on the Planet with us.  Who knew?  I mean it had only been a couple weeks since they gave you 1-3 months, and you seemed like you were having a good day. We had did normal stuff.  Normal for cancer, anyway, stuff.  You slept a lot, ate pretty damn well, considering.  I did my show.  You watched March Madness. I listened to my show, it was called “postcards from the class war.”  You slipped away, alone.  I hate that.  I felt so guilty for a while, I had real problems doing the show, and it was months before I could listen to myself again, after.  In fact, I rarely do.  My new routine is to Skype with friends after.  I know its both avoidance and replacement.  I used to talk to you about it after, then have a listen and critique myself.  But they are great people, and its fun.

I can’t believe its been a year.  A year. You should see how tall Jake is getting.  I say that like you can’t.  Well, either you can, and are still here with us in ways, or you are gone and telling you this is an exercise in futility anyway.  Other than the fact, you live IN us, and the process of talking to you makes me work through it better.  You know me.  Sorting it aloud clears my brain.

I woke this morning and the thought of having to do some kind of Memorial thread was so daunting. Writing in general has been sporadic. Talking with you like this?  Not as hard as I thought.  

It does get easier, I don’t buy into the “different but no easier” meme.  You understand, that does not belittle your importance to us.  But permanent grief isn’t healthy.  Being devastated and horrified at each passing date of import isn’t either.

In fact, like you used to say, “Just another day in paradise,” with your little sarcastic side-grin.  Dates are arbitrary, and I miss you no less today than yesterday or tomorrow.  Still, this 1st one seems important, and mile-stonish. Yes, dear, that is a Dinyism.  You love my made up words.

Its just getting to the place of “routine” now.  I mean, the first few months were all fallout all the time, right through the end of August and the ashes hell. The tree hell.  Then the Holidays.  Ok, saying that now explains how fast the year went.  I was wondering.

I’ve even had a couple dates. You’d hate that.  You’d be jealous.  Not me, I always said if I died 1st I would want you to find joy and love again.  I’m not going to let the weight of that stop me though, that was your baggage not mine.  I’m in no hurry either, though. I have a pretty high set of standards; I want friendship and trust before I’d let someone into my life, let alone Jake’s.  I won’t let anyone hurt him.  It will be someone I can trust to recognize and protect my vulnerability; while respecting my strength.

Finances are still hell.  I try not to let on to anyone how much of my waking hours are pure unadulterated existential panic.  Worry, worry, I have to stop before this kills me.  My other worry, my new thing is an obsession with me dying and leaving Jake.  I think about it every night, trying to sleep.  I have to make that stop, I know it.  Its not good for me, and hence not good for him.

Have you seen how amazing that kid is?  I mean, its so sad you cannot watch him grow.  We are really close, he and I. Of course, we always have been.  Its not just a Mother’s love, it like he has always been his own little person, and I LIKE him.  I feel lucky this is the one I got.  You dig it.  You knew.  

I guess this year will be the tell.  How I can stand up to it.  The busyness and drama and work of it all kept me too busy to do much else.  Now the routine sets in, and my life begins anew more than ever.  I’ve been procrastinating too much.  I gave away most of your clothes at the start to Occupy…. and finally cleaned out the Library.  I’ve yet been unable to touch your two junk drawers.  They were YOURS.  I never went in them when you were alive.  I feel like I’m invading your privacy – something I never would do to you.  Its not like I need the space.  But leaving it like that means I am dodging.

I forget stuff like water softener salt without you here, until the grossness of the water reminds me.  Shit is falling apart.  I know I fixed most of it anyway, but without man help to help me even pull it out?  I’m stranded.  The money is tighter than I imagined.  Maybe I am slipping back into the routines of when you were alive.  Spending too much.  I don’t know.  Xmas and Jakes Birthday tightened it a bit.  But gas and groceries went up; and I had spend outside of my budget to fix my back.  Had to quit Olgas because my back was out.  Make less, spend extra never works.  But being paralyzed doesn’t work either.   I know, I need to find a real job.  Time is running out.

I cleaned and restrung your guitar, babe,  Another milestone.  But I tell you, the little shit piles up.  Filling the humidifiers, especially with my back fucked up.  The fishtank too.  I need to get rid of that freaking thing.  The spare bedroom is still a clusterfuck. Those freaking expensive blinds we bought years ago are broken again. The sinks aren’t right.  The mudroom toilet is falling off its seal. All the wood I busted ass to put up on the deck needs to come OFF the deck.  Yeah, I’m an idiot.  But it was a warm winter, and my allergies and breathing have sucked this year.  “Quit smoking, Diane.”  “I know Mike.  I hear you.”  I think about it every day.  The riding mower got fixed by Arizona Al; but needs new tires.  The new truck is flashing change oil at me. I haven’t opened the house insurance bill, or even thought about doing our taxes.  I have to step up my game, here.

Really, that is all stuff that hasn’t changed a bit since you left.  It was our normal too.  Chaos, there was always chaos.  

Overall?  Little has changed.  I do the same things every day I always did.  Pretty much the same friends, same routines.  Same little homebody.  

You would be so thrilled about the show, though.  That, my dear, has gone absolutely crazy beyond our wildest dreams, the people who I get to talk with!  Who knew?  I mean, really, really, we would have never believed it. I wish I could tell you about it.  I guess I am.

What exactly is dead anyway?  I know, “You’ll get back to me on that.”  I’m waiting.  Heh, still no postcards from the great beyond.  But seriously, you were here for most of my adult life, for better or worse.  At least in a divorce I could call you up. I still mostly feel like I’m married. I use the collective “we” rather than “I” reflexively.  

I could dwell on trying to remember the details of this day, before you died.  But, really, that won’t do a fucking thing.  Or beat myself up for not being there.  I’ve been dreading this day for weeks.  And here it is.  A Sunday.  Just a Sunday, another day in Paradise, and I wish you were here to share, but you’re not, like the last 364 days.  I don’t know if fixating on death-days does any good whatsoever.  One thing?  August 17th slipped by unnoticed this year.  Heh.  You stole Mom & Terry’s thunder on that one.

The worst part is its all on me now.  The best part is that I think I am doing a damn good job if it.  It sucks that you aren’t here to tell me you are proud of me.  Or even mad at me for not needing you enough. Or anything.  The sick-you is fading in my memory though, and the happy-you is growing, that’s a start.  

Everyone I spoke to today, has had loss too.  No one here gets out alive.

I’m glad and proud to have known you, my man.  You flow though our veins and in our souls.

Now, the stupid young dog is being annoying, Jake has cartoons on, I have to make breakfast, and its going to be 62 and sunny today.  Guess life doesn’t wait for anything.

I love you, Micheal.  

I’ll write from time to time.  I wish you had made videos for Jake. Vain Dickhead.  Maybe you are right, revisiting the sick-you talking would have been worse.  I doubt it though.  I think he would have loved to hear messages from you for things like today, his 16th bday, his graduation. His wedding.  Just little snippets of you.

I wish Jill was here to help me tell him funny-you stories, but she is dodging it.  She does that when it cuts too close to her pain, too.  

I can’t fucking believe its been a year. I want one more hug, one more kiss.  One more morning phone call.  But it is what it is, and I’m glad I had it, and we have what we have now, and I’ll do my damnedest to make our time left on this planet good time.  That doesn’t make you less, it means I honor you, and what little time you had.  It means you made me realize ever more how precious time is.  Life is.

You were expecting profundity?  Thats as close as I can get.  I could talk with you forever, but people are reading this, you know, and I’m rambling.  So I’ll end it here.

Talk to you later, babe.  Or myself on your behalf.  Like Prego, you’re in here.

Love,

Diane