Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Things I Can't Handle Today

Dear John,
 
It's been a slow and non-productive day off. I'm still shaking that cold and have been coughing a lot. In the interest of not getting bronchitis, I've slept a good bit of the day. It was warm and lovely - I'd have loved to walk the dog and work in the flowerbeds. But it would have been foolish to do that and make myself sicker.
 
And I was teary, too. Just like last year, everything is getting harder as the anniversary of your death gets closer. I'm feeling very emotionally sensitive today. I've skipped most things on Facebook. I can handle everything except happy things and sad things. I've skipped all the stories about animals being mistreated - I have a hard time handling that in the best of times. But I've also been skipping all the happy-family news. I'm glad people are happy with their husbands and children, but some days it just underlines what I had and lost. Today I'm confining myself to humor, and not even all of that.
 
On days like this I don't want to look forward or back. I don't want the future and I can't bear to remember the past - like Stevie Nicks said, the best of all the years have gone by. These are days that remembering you is excruciating. A little while ago something reminded me of your face and the way you used to look at me. That is usually a good memory, but today it's unbearable. The only thing I want to do is keep my mind in the mundane present and pass the time as painlessly as I can. That isn't really living, but today I think that anything else will destroy me.
 
It will get better after Sunday, when another year has passed. At least, it did last year. One year does not a precedent make, does it? On the average, this does get better with time. But there are days that my heart seems to double back to the first days without you and make me go through it all over again. Tonight I can see your face in front of me and want to take it into my hands. I'd give the entire world to touch you again. I'd give it just to see you look at me.
 
Actually, I'd give up the world for nothing. Tonight, all I want is you. I don't care a pin for anything else. Last night I cried when I went to bed - Jethro lay down beside me and Hunter came and lay on my side and purred. Abby, being a sensible creature, hid somewhere. Tonight I'll cry again. And I'll be fine in the morning - I won't let the sun catch me crying. I'll go to work and be busy and distract myself from remembering what I was doing that day two years ago. Sunday the two-year mark will come. I'll go to church and we'll celebrate Palm Sunday and Christ's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We'll have palm branches and have our procession outside in the sun. It is our one bright spot before the grief and pain of Holy Week. It will be good for me to be reminded of the power and love of God and the triumph of life over death. For tonight, all I see is death and darkness. I'll be fine in the morning.
 
If you can, please come and comfort me a little bit tonight. Love you with all of me,
Joan.

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