Monday, December 24, 2012

On Screaming When No One Can Hear

Dear John,
 
It's Christmas Eve, 9:30, and I'm not at church. I'm sorry if I'm letting you down, but I'm just too raw for it. Pardon the language, but Christmas has been a b****. It's been harder than I expected. And the measure of that is in my dreams - it's been at least six months since I had dreams that you came back and then left again. Now I'm having them every night. And they're leaving their daytime mark on me. It's just another layer, another piece of mourning.
 
You know I've been working on a Pinterest board called "On Widowhood." The work usually makes me cry, but it's therapeutic. I still need to cry sometimes. The things that make me cry are things I should work through, not avoid. I just have to come up for air when I need to. And I've learned to be gentle with myself while I'm doing that kind of work.
 
Jen came over tonight for our Christmas together. I told her that I hoped someday I could do half as much for her as she's done for me over the years. She and I are family. (Now I'm seeing Gene Hackman in drag. And giggling.) She gave me a UK tee-shirt (just in time for basketball season!), a Roku (which is wonderful. Besides Netflix, I have Pandora now, and I already have a Delta Blues station created), and she stepped up to fill your shoes - she got me a bag of Raisinettes! For her Christmas, I'm kntting a hat-scarf-gloves set. The gloves are all that are done, and she left wearing them. I couldn't start them until after she moved, so things are running behind. She had picked out the pattern and told me to surprise her with the yarn. Thank goodness, she loved the yarn I picked for her. Christmas Eve with her was warm and wonderful and special.
 
I'll go to bed soon. Jethro is already curled up at my feel sound asleep. I don't know what tomorrow will be like, but I'm expecting emotional unpleasantness. How could it be otherwise, without you? I love you so much, more than I can ever say, and it's always felt like it's more than I can hold. Now I'm holding love and grief together - it's no wonder if my seams come apart sometimes. Come and hold me in your arms tonight.
 
All my love,
Joan.

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