Friday, March 14, 2014

Survival Revisited

Dear John,
 
I'm sorry I wasn't here last night. I kept trying to talk to you, but the internet was down for some reason. I hate going a day without talking to you. 
 
Yesterday was the 13th - it was 23 months, so I went by to see you. I almost got to stay; I was briefly stuck in the snow in the cemetery. It was crazy to go there the day after a snowstorm, but I was coming out the back of the post office again and couldn't resist. Just a bit more snow and I'd have gotten to stay with you, without violating Jen's prohibition against digging!
 
I'm still unconvinced about this issue of living. I have to keep in mind that some of my emotional funk is weather-related. In a normal year, by now we'd have early bulbs up, lambs in the fields, and fresh maple syrup. This winter has been so severe and so long! I know that I need spring. I'll feel better when I can work in the garden, wash the windows, and look outside and see some color other than white.
 
I really have done well. Between the severe winter, forced Cymbalta withdrawal, and having my income cut in half for two months, I'm entitled to be bummed. I have survived all of this without you; some discouragement is understandable. I'm eager to see where I am emotionally when spring arrives. You've been gone almost two years. I don't hate it any less, but I'm getting accustomed to it. Grief, however, is never linear, so there are still times that it flattens me. There probably always will be.
 
I'm struggling now. But that should get better when winter goes away and the taxes are filed. I have a lot to be thankful for. When I woke up at 5:00 this morning, Jethro was sleeping jammed up against my back, Hunter was cuddled up against my chest, and Abby was snoring on my legs. Besides these three animals who love me, I have the house, a little money in savings, a reliable car, friends who love me, your family, and 38 years with you. I still have your love, and separation is temporary. As the Grateful Dead are telling me right now, we will get by. We will survive. And maybe, when spring comes, I'll even want to!
 
Adore you,
Joan.
 


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