Our Car is dead. Like You.

It's been horrible. First it broke (got sick), then it got fixed (got better), and then it went out and up and died on us, too many miles away, five days before payday. (too far from home; too soon.)

Actually it isn't as dead as you are. It's motor will still run, just like your big ol' loving heart kept going, even when every other part of you was giving up.

But to me, it is. I'm done with it. What  good is a heart with no body or soul?

And that grieves me.

It's one more, one last thing that was mutually ours (outside of furniture and children).
One more shared-with-you that has Gone from my life.
One more step into Life Without You.

And I don't like it.

I don't like this life without you, and I sure as hell don't like the loss of things we shared.
I don't like things that seem to take me a step farther or further away from you.
I just don't like it.

And if I should cry for our car, I hope someone will know that it isn't the car.
It's still you I'm grieving for.

Thinking of You

Haven't posted lately, but it doesn't mean I don't think of you.
I think of you at random times.
I think of you in random ways.

I think of you, and Clyde, and Little Bit.

I think of you and Charlie and Cecil.

I see you in Warren's eyes . They are a grey blue in color, but the shine and the shape of the eyes and the sweep of the lashes are you.

Today I thought I would finally take the time to put my pictures of you into a new album  -- only to find the pictures aren't with the other picture. I must have put them away somewhere more special -- but I have no idea where that could be.
 I still try to tell you things that have happened at work.
Things the kids have said or done.
Our problem child and our children's problems.

And then I realize that you aren't there.

Sometimes I tell you anyway.
I wish I knew if you heard or care, but there are some things you have to take on faith, I guess.

Marking a Milestone Unmet

Yesterday would have been your 60th birthday.
If you had stuck around for 60 full years.                    

But you didn't, so it wasn't, and yet -- it WAS.

Yesterday was your 60th birthday, and we who love you remembered it and you for the day. Me, Tammy, Tracy-in-New York, Hailey, and Warren went to the cemetery and then I took them to the park in Bethel for cake and ice cream.
I invited others to join us, but casually, and you won't be surprised that no one did. Acting like they actually have their own lives and all, y'know.

I was going to get a German chocolate cake, one with the fuzzy frosting, because those were (at one time) your favorite, but neither Tammy nor Hailey liked the look of it. Tammy said the cake looked like something had pooped on it.
So we got a chocolate pudding cake. I think you would have liked it. It was flavorful without being rich. I was surprised.

 The kids had a blast at the park, which is vastly different from how it used to be. It's different from even when Tammy and Tracy were the young'uns.

Afterwards, I took them past the house where I grew up -- it is vastly different also, but I was glad to see the mini jungle in the front side yard has been cut down. But not the lilac bush. And I drove home so we went past where we lived in the trailer here in Mt Orab.

A pilgrimage of sorts, I suppose.

Anyway, we marked your day with remembrance of you

I'm Not Me Without You

***language warning***

Since you have been gone, I've become possessed by a demon of mean spiteful hatefulness. One that calls names (and NOT only in my head), cusses, and flat-out hates.

I do not like this person.

It seems unfair somehow to lay the guilt for that at your feet, but so much of what sets me off could be eased if I could just talk to you. You were always such a good listener. And you could make me laugh at my own frazzledness.
It's also true that many of the things that set me off would not exist had you just continued to exist. No necessity for a job, no homelessness, no car falling to pieces -- you'd have figured out a way to get it fixed, or helped me figure it out. You would have been more on top of the transmission fluid situation, that's for sure.

Rex, you would not believe the frequency with which I use the f word. I've probably used it more in the last two months than I ever did out whole lives together, And I call people retards in my mind, and you know that I have never used that word that way -- that I have been extremely upset by and with people who do. I've even called them fucktards, and you know how I despise that word. (While still admiring it, in a professional sort of way. It says what it means and means what it says. No one has ever needed to have it defined for them, or explained.)

I am hateful.
I am angry.
I am childish.
I am spiteful.
I am malicious.
I am ungrateful.
I am humorless.
I am negative.

And I do not like this person.

But I don't know how to find me again, anymore, ever.
I don't know if that me exists, or even if she ever did.

I kind of liked her most of the time when I thought she did exist. There were negative things, but they were all softened and leveled out by a sense of humor and a sort of loving kindness that could see the silly side and laugh at it.

I miss her, but she is so lost; so far away.
How do I get back to her?

Is That You?

Last week, I had a spate of losing things and then finding them exactly where they were supposed to be. Freaky to say the least. Most of the stuff was relatively minor -- my new pay card, my wallet, some cash, bank papers; things of that ilk. (The pay card was minor because it had not yet been activated.) The big thing was my teeth.

Through it all, I could hear you nagging, fussing, cussing -- just giving me hell for not keeping better track of my things.
Heck, you (and your mouth and opinion of me) were the reason I made myself learn to be so otganizes. A place for everything and everything in its place.

But what do you do when you've put everything in its place and it disappears then reappears exactly there?

I then had the misfortune -- or maybe good fortune -- to read a list of signs that a loved one could be letting you know they are near. The number one item was the disappearance and reappearance of significant items.

Except that I can't really see you doing that, especially not with my teeth. I even had to work all night one night without them. Just doesn't seem like something you'd do. (Charlie might, but he can go haunt someone else. You can tell him I said so.)

I have mixed feelings about that. I wish you were here; I like the idea if you being near; but I would so much rather think of you being off somewhere, just being. No work, no worries, love and joy and peace -- all that good stuff.
Yeah, I want you to help me with all my little problems but don't want you to kn ow about any of them. Especially not the ones I keep talking over with you.

Yeah,

Well, anyway, if it's you, send me flowers, okay? Like you did when you were first  gone. Please don't hide things from me.
It's hard enough living every day without your help.
Without you.

On My Mind; In My Heart

I've had you on my mind a lot lately. Actively, awfully, achingly on my mind. I suppose it's the weather. The horrible hot humidity that was always so hard on you. (And it's just now the middle of June!)

And having to work and no one to decompress with afterward. Work has been really tough the last three weeks or so. I'm trying to do three people's work -- which is my usual job -- but now I'm having to be at all three parts of the job at exactly the same time! And stay on them. It's just too hard. And I can't do it, but then I go on and do it anyway.

You know.

No luck finding my own place. Who knew it would be so hard. Part of that problem is the working, and the third shift working. I'm not "in place" to get the new newspapers every week, or to make the phone calls bright and early in the business day.
I have lots of family and friends who are trying to help, but they can't help much with the timing thing. That one is all on me.

I think of you when I have a hard time breathing every time I open the drive thru window.
I think of you when I wake up gasping for air because the room is so hot.
I think of you when I have to choose breathing or sleeping. (Or standing, or sweeping, or moving.)
I think of you when I hurt, because I think that you would be unhappy to see me this way.

And then I am glad you are not here to see it, because you deserve your hard won peace.

I thought of you Memorial Day, but I may have been the only person in the entire store who worked all four days of that holiday weekend. I want to take Hailey to your resting place. She has asked about you/it. Just haven't made it  yet.

Rex, I wish you could know how grateful I am that I had you for so long. And for the way you let me be me, even when you couldn't understand where that me-ness was coming from. (I hardly know myself, sometimes.)

It's such a horrible aching loss not having you. Not having that.

I can only hope -- since I can't change anything now -- that I let you be you in the same way. And I hope you know how much love there was for that you.

I miss you.

Finally in pictures.

I Want You Back

I want you back.
You've been away long enough.
I need you.
I miss you.

Come back.

I know you can't, but do it anyway.
It wouldn't be the first time you've done the impossible, now would it?
You were told once you'd never walk again, right?

Some days I still think I may wake to find this is all a convoluted dream.

I sure wish I could believe that on these lost other days.

18 Months Gone.

It happened the other day.
I didn't consciously know it, but some inner part of my mind or soul has been counting and keeping track.
Some part of me knew it, without my knowing I knew.

I was mean and hateful and bitter for two days -- April 15 and 16. Sometime Late on the 16th, I realized it was the 16th of the month.

And then I knew.

18 months without you.

18 months alone in the loneliest way.

18 months, just -- 18 months.

Is it only 18 months already, or is it finally 18 months?

I don't know.
Don't suppose it matters.
18 months is just a fact; a word; a number.
An anniversary.
The kind that needs acknowledged but is nothing to celebrate.

People sometimes wonder what I miss the most about you.
What a silly question,.
I miss the you-ness of you, not just your parts.

But I think of you not having to draw breath, not having to choose between eating or breathing.
Those are the thoughts I cling to and try to find unselfish comfort in.

But I still miss your presence in my life.

And I surely truly wish I could take or find or have new pictures of you to share. The old ones are so old.

Easter 2

It's so not right without you here. It just is (or isn't.)

Last night, I should have been coming home from work (if I was working) and got busy setting up Easter baskets for the kids. I should have been standing at the table, sorting out the gifts, sharing out the candies, arranging the contents, while you sat there commenting on everything and eating all the Reese's eggs. You should be sitting there suggesting places to hide the plastic eggs, and digging through your stashes for dollar bills and quarters to put in them. Some of your suggestions -- most of them -- would be silly. A few would be genius.
You should be here to see the children find the eggs and to see their faces light up when they discover the surprises inside.

The table was there, the candies were there  (except for Reese's eggs), the special gifts for the babies. The baskets -- not our purchase, though. There was even a leftover basket for the grown ups.
Everything was there.
Except you.

It also wasn't our home. That, too, is gone.
We have no home, but then, there is no us.
I guess we don't need one.

I've missed you so these last few days. It breaks my heart that I couldn't "pull a rabbit out of the hat" and get those babies some Easter outfits. It just breaks my heart.

And I am heart-sore without you. If that heart break had happened, it would somehow not be so grievous if you were here to share it with. Although, had you been here, it wouldn't have happened. You would have figured something out that I couldn't.
Not being you, I don't know what that would have been. But there would have been something.

Heart sick, heart sore, and heart broke -- just another holiday for this one you left behind.

Help Emelyse And Her Family

2

Warren is 2 years old today.

Seems incredible.

And how can you have been gone for so very many months?

You were here when he came into this world.
You were here to enjoy him, to laugh at him, to teach him to laugh.
You were here to be his pappaw -- his a-a; his ya-ya -- before he was even old enough to know there was anyone beyond himself and his parents.
You were here.

And then you were not.
You didn't see him crawl or walk or run or climb.
I'm not sure you if you saw him sit up on his own.

But you saw him laugh.
You made him laugh.
You made him happy.

And you slipped away before his first birthday, and here it is his second birthday already.

It isn't right that you aren't here.
Wasn't right then; isn't right now.
It will never be right.

Wish you could see what a little man he is. You would have great fun arguing nonsense with him. He can give as good as it gets, that's for sure.

Warren is a happy healthy two years living and you are going on two years dead. And I know you would still adore him, as he would you.

Promise with Problems

I'm finally able (with Tammy's help) to keep that last promise to you -- to put you into the ground. This is what you wanted, and, although I don't understand it, I promised. (Or I think I did. We discussed it, and I know it's what you wanted, so it doesn't really matter if the promise was explicit or implied.

But after all this time, keeping that promise comes with problems.

The biggest one, to me, has been about notifying your family.
Should I or shouldn't I?

After all, for them, it has been over and done with for a long time. They have had to deal with life; births and other deaths. Too damned many other deaths.

But, how can I not tell them? Just maybe they need closure, too. Maybe they need to feel that what remains of you here is finally, firmly, and forever at rest. Maybe the interment is as important a ritual to them as it was to you.

I don't want to dredge up for them old hurts, like losing you. Like not knowing you were that sick. We have lived with it every day, because you were an everyday part of us.

Also, and most importantly, just maybe they need "the words" to lay you to rest.

They may have felt cheated somehow that there were no "words" at your memorial service. No comfort spoken aloud that you have been welcomed into the arms of a loving god.

They didn't know, or perhaps didn't understand, how adamantly you did not want that. That it was something we had discussed and considered, although there was no definite plan.
Death snuck up on us before we could work out the details.

I did what I could for you, with what I knew and what we had talked about.
But I can certainly understand if your family felt some incompleteness with the process.

Because I did, Rex.
I have to tell you, I did.

I am having a priest at the graveside.
You will be put into the ground with Christian words of faith, hope, and comfort.

I cannot put you in the cold hard ground without that.

I need the words said.

I need the ceremony and the service; the pomp and circumstance, if you want to see it that way.
This interment is for you; the ceremony is for me, and for anyone who has felt unfinished without it for you.

I know you understand. Now that I've explained it.
I do feel a bit uneasy, because I know you didn't want "religion."

That's one reason for choosing a priest instead of a pentecostal -- a more restrained ceremony. (Another reason is that I was raised Catholic and the rituals are bred into me. And the final reason is that it was much easier to arrange through Rita who is active in the Church, when I barely know any other Church or preacher.)

But I can live more easily with the conscience of words against not-exactly what you wanted.

I'm confused.
I'm sorry.
I'm missing you.

But I am keeping this last promise and putting you in a permanent place of rest.

Finally

A Second Winter

Well, it finally became winter this year. We got about a foot of snow and the temperature keeps going lower.
Reminds me of our first winter in the trailer, when it was 25 below and the walls frosted on the inside of the bedrooms.

I've been missing you a lot recently, I don't know if it's because of my birthday. Or maybe Valentine's. Or maybe it's just winter.

I miss you.
Last night and the night before, I couldn't  sleep because  every time I tried, I could feel your absence. I can't  explain it better than that. I couldn't go to sleep without you around, and you aren't around. Except in my heart, soul, and memory.

This old house is extra empty without you these cold dark days. I want out of here so badly. It's like a toothache living here without you, day after day.
When I was debating coming home the other night, before the big storm started, all I could think was that if you were here there'd be no question what to do -- I'd be coming home to you.
We'd weather out the weather together.

Oh, God, Rex, how can I keep doing this?
How?
And Why?

You Were There. And Then

when my alarm for my medicine went off this morning, I was so warm and comfortable, snuggled next ti you. Then I turned the alarm off, and turned back over, to a cold and empty bed.

I wondered where you had gone.
Then I remembered that you have been gone for a very long time.
And an even longer time since we could snuggle in the bed, since you couldn't breathe lying down.

So why would I think that?
Was it a dream?
A dream remnant?

Was it just warmth and comfort?
If so, did I conjured it up for myself, or was the loving warmth coming from you?

I don't know.
I'll never know.

What I do know is that in that moment between sleeping and waking, the bed got colder and bigger and emptier.

I miss you.

Been a While

Wow, it's been a while -- a long while -- since I put anything here. A lot has been going on, and the whole thing with the holidays here and you there (wherever there is), and some of the events -- well, I just haven't had the heart. Or, when I did, I didn't have the means.

The first thing is that it turns out there's nothing wrong with my heart after all. Except, I suppose, that it's misshapen. I guess that if I had to have a heart problem, having it on the tight is better than on the wrong side.

Your brother Charlie died, but you know that. I've seen you and him cracking inane jokes and laughing at one another, pleased and silly and happy. And for the most part, twenty years younger. Oh well.

Your daughter Hazel also passed, and the girls and I went to her funeral. We went to the cemetery, too. That was an awful, awful thing to happen, and I was glad that you did not have to live through that anguish. I hope she has found the peace and acceptance she looked for for so long.

The cord on my new not yet paid for computer broke and a replacement had to be ordered.

I wrecked the car.
I had Tammy and Hailey with me when that happened.

They are all right, I am all right, and the car survived, as well. It took the worst of it.

The woman behind us said it was black ice. I guess it was; I couldn't say. One minute I'm driving along, and then the car was trying to go off somewhere all by itself.

Seemed like we slid around forever, but we didn't.
Airbags deployed.
Tammy got throwed around.
I crushed the steering wheel.
Tammy started screaming for Hailey flying into the back seat.
Hailey says, "Mammaw, why did you hit that tree?" in a normal conversational tone.

I didn't hit a tree, I hit a guard rail.
Tammy's head was bonked, and her right arm messed up.
My -- er; um -- chest was bruised badly, and my right arm is giving me some problems.

I started putting things in storage, since it doesn't look as if I'll be moving into anywhere any time soon.
Pretty sure that isn't doing my arm any good. Arm and shoulder and neck.

And I stayed at Tam's a few days, but now I'm home, and now my cord came in, and life is pretending to be getting back to normal.

And that's it for now, except we are still missing you.
Always.