Gentle readers may want to skip this one. Real Life Romance Hero passed away ten months ago yesterday. At the exact ten month mark to the hour of his time of death (a person doesn’t forget times like that) I was walking home in a downpour (with umbrella) because I had taken a wrong turn in the park, partly grief brain, partly story brain. It felt appropriate.
Ten months in, I am at the lowest point I have ever been. Not going to lie. Desperately lonely, overwhelmed, and writing about it helps, so if you are reading this and it’s not your first time, you literally signed up for this. Unless you are a gentle reader, in which case, really, turn back now. There will be livelier posts someday. This is not one of them.
Right now, it is Saturday, one day after the ten month mark, which means I am now on my eleventh month, and it stinks exactly as much as I expected it would. Sometimes more. I am overwhelmed. I have to clear out two storage units when my transportation options are bus and one and one half feet because plantar fasciitis. Yeah. At least my meniscus isn’t acting up, I am currently juggling the options of doing a commando raid and getting my bare minimum items out of storage and then finding the first and/or least shady estate liquidator I can find and tell them have at it. I am done.
There is Too Much Stuff. I am currently chasing things around in a circle, that depend on each other. Phone. Home internet. Thank God for public internet, because this is how I can blog. Storage units. Stuff from Linda’s room, which I need to empty so I can deep clean it so I can search for a roommate while searching for a job, which is harder than one would think without phone and home internet (that is a whole other thing, working on that) and looking at options for my own phone because surprise, surprise, being a family caregiver for over two decades is not the most lucrative thing on the planet. Hours are 24/7 and pay is zero. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. For anyone saying, well, I knew what I was getting into, ohnononono we are not going there. Not even close to there.
Mental health? In whatever is below the toilet. That is why I am seeing two different therapists this coming week. The fact that I have a milestone birthday that was supposed to look VERY VERY DIFFERENT coming in exactly one week (that will be stop three on the holiday grief tour) is Not Helping. Do I have plans to undo myself? No. Frankly, that would be one more thing to do and I am already full up on that for the foreseeable future.
Did I come on here only to vent? Why yes, yes I did. I am allowed. I am grieving. I did the math, and actually lost four people in my life in the past year. Four. RLRH’s mother, though we were not close. My dear friend and immensely talented author M.P. Barker, whose New Year’s Day book swaps are the stuff of legend, and not having that will be another stop on the tour. Then RLRH and then Housemate. There are days I feel completely abandoned. I know death is not the same as walking out, but if you don’t know the absolute devastation of a place that is too quiet, filled with things that belonged to people who are no longer here, then you are doing better than I am. I am tired. I am trying to deal with too many things with too few resources and I am angry. The people who were here through all of my crud now are not. I love my internet friends, I really do. There are times when I want a hand in mine. I do get a paw, so there’s that. Storm’s existence guarantees my existence. I don’t know any other way to put that.
Next week, I may see if I can manage navigating public transport to get to church on Sunday. I had hoped for tomorrow, but apparently I have hit my limit of Figuring Things Out for the week. Grievers, you know that kind of wall. For tonight, I will have chili dogs with my cat (she will have gushy food) and read, and tomorrow I will watch the livestream from Panera with a bagel and some tea. This whole one step at a time thing is…well, it is. I got nothing whimsical for this wrap up.. It’s not one of those days. The holiday grief tour is like that.
Catch you next time.
