Discussion
Things have been mostly okay, actually. I went to a writers retreat last week, hung out with creative friends, wrote and edited some stuff.
Came back and work kicked my ass a bit, but I earned my keep. This weekend I played some RPGs, joined a friend for a film, another for a roller derby match. Played social videogames.
Missed my wife. The whole time. Kept wanting to get her opinion. Run an errand. Anything.
Alone even with friends. It's a struggle.
I've always tried to approach my own art without thinking about why. I want to create art the same way a clam creates a pearl. It just does.
But it was also true that much of it was for her. She was the first person I'd show anything... a doodle, a joke, a music mix. It was also to make her happy because life's not easy. She took meds for depression but I could make her laugh.
I'm still laughing, but mostly in wonder at how it keeps hurting.
When the police were here, the day she passed, they took a moment before all the emergency services people left and said "There's going to be a moment, quite soon now, where we're all going to leave and you're going to be all alone. So if there's anything we can do to help you now... anyone we can call... let us know."
I declined.
But they were right about the coming moment, when everyone is gone.
It's a big moment. And it doesn't only happen once.
Friends and family gather in the wake of grief, but at some point, folks need to go home, or get back to work. They can't stay forever.
And for weeks, or months, friends will try as hard as they can to check in, or stop by, or make plans... but they can't be there forever.
What's waiting— the forever that's waiting— is the quiet after everyone leaves. That's the heart of it. Where the struggle takes place. Where you find out.
What's left of you.
@signalstation I am just learning about this in real time and I am so so so sorry for your loss 😥😥❤️❤️
Thanks, Jamie, I appreciate it.
It's been a long four months, which is nothing compared to the unknown amount of time that yawns ahead.
But to some extent, we're trying to write through it... to feel our way through it.
It helps get through the long evenings, when things feel too quiet.
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Every time I wake up, I'm the only one here.
Every time I come home, I'm the only one here.
I see things at the grocery store she'd like and I don't buy them.
I buy too much food. It's been four months. Hard to buy produce for one.
Been visiting the gym. The doctor. Not sure why. This urge to keep living.
I don't have a belief system where we'll be reunited but I do believe that when I die, I'll stop. The pain will stop but not yet. We're still going.