My dearest Sam,
I left your meditation corner all clear and ready for you. The light is on. You can visit if you need a rest or a reminder.
Miss you much.
My dearest Sam,
I left your meditation corner all clear and ready for you. The light is on. You can visit if you need a rest or a reminder.
Miss you much.
Today might have been the worst day I’ve ever experienced since your death a few months ago. So what happened is the bank wants to reclaim your last SSDI checks that were deposited erroneously. They want this money redeposited because the Government says he died. But guess what? The bank won’t deal with me at all until I can prove that you died. So the government will get that money from the bank because the bank believes your dead, but they won’t believe your dead for me unless I bring the death cert which I STILL DON”T HAVE BECAUSE CARNES FUNERAL HOME IS A ROYAL *&$#UP house. But that’s what happens when you have to deal with a county program. You get $#*!!y service and you have to be glad for it. It isn’t that I don’t want to pay them back. I was prepared to, but I can’t do it when they want it, in FIVE DAYS. And it’s brought up all these memories about you dying, dealing with the funeral home that never ever went well, ordering a DEATH CERTIFICATE that never came, and just everything that has to do with you DYING. I cried about an hour at work. Got paid 20.00 to do it though… so I guess there’s that. I cried off and on having to take calls, thinking about how this entire thing SUCKS and how nothing about this has gone right, though I still feel blessed to have spent the last 7 months of your life with you almost 24/7. I say “I love you” much more now than I ever did when you was alive, and I told you “I love you” a lot when you were alive. I guess I do love you even more now, I hope you love me more too, but this sucks. I really just want to feel like I can emotionally handle these things, and I just can’t. I want to get to that place where these things don’t make me cry all day and for an hour straight at work. I don’t want to forget you, I just want to get to a place where it’s okay to be frustrated without feeling like I’m being pushed under water again. You grok?
And… I dropped my phone in the toilet and it stopped working so I had to get an AT&T paygo phone because it’s a holiday weekend and I wouldn’t have got a new phone by MOnday. I’m not sure the deductible is worth it anyway. 125 for that Nokia Lumina 925, which I don’t even really like anyway… I might just get something else for the same money.
Anyway… After all of that I went to counseling and cried some more. I think I’ve spent most of the day crying. I will probably have a massive headache tomorrow.
I bought chocolate.
I love you.
Remember when I told you there were only 3 men who could make me cry, and you were one of them? You know what’s ironic about that old fact? It’s not really true anymore. Anyone can make me cry. All they have to do is say something and trigger some memory or something. And you know how we were doing so well? We hadn’t argued in months (once you accepted I wasn’t home to “babysit” you). You make me cry almost every day now. And we aren’t arguing at all…
I want to make it clear, first, that I am not “miserable.” I am just not happy. Everyone has their advice on how I can be happier, including faking it, which I do and have done very, very well. I even feel it most of the time when I’m with other people. It’s just those little moments I get choked up, or when I have time to actually think, or when I see your picture, or when something reminds me of you, and most of the time, I don’t even know when or where that will happen–it’s then I cry and cry and cry and cry. No one’s advice has helped except one person I never really expected to be a help to me through this. There are others who offer no advice at all, they are just there and supportive, and those are people I hadn’t expected either. They are all people I met through the internet. I’ve met them in person, but only once, so I get really defensive when people talk about how bad the internet is for relationships. First, I met you through the internet–and I will never, ever say that was a bad thing, even if it caused me the most emotional pain I have ever experienced in my life. And these other people I met through the internet, I wouldn’t want to be deprived of them just because they are not people I see IRL every day.
I think maybe I’m crying because Erin isn’t here, and she doesn’t have to see it. Maybe I feel a little more free to cry without the kids here, but it still makes me feel broken and unhappy. Maybe I am broken. I’m not quite sure, and I’m not sure it actually matters.
I had been writing our biography, but I got to a place where I just can’t write it anymore. It just hurts too much right now.
I have your ashes beside me. I don’t know if I can put them in the containers they are supposed to go in to give to your brothers/sister and the special container I got for you. I have asked someone to do it for me, but I don’t know if they will yet.
I’m calling someone about counseling tomorrow. I’m also going to take a day, maybe two, off because I just am so deeply, emotionally exhausted and I don’t think I can sleep well without sleeping pills and I don’t think I can stay awake tomorrow if I take them. If I can pull myself together tomorrow, I will go back on Tuesday. I will talk to the lawyer and try to do the things I can’t do while I’m working.
Heavenly Father did clear the way for making this as ‘easy’ as possible on me, I know, and I can see all the little ways he’s done it, but it’s still not easy. I don’t think I’ve cried this much since that first week you actually passed. Maybe it’s hormones, mayve it’s your ashes, maybe it’s the weekend, maybe it’s the kids not being here, or a combination of all those things. Maybe I just really miss you and still love you so incredibly that I don’t want to think about 20 or 30 years without you.
I’ve decided I will work on the fantasy allegory of our life, the one we’d been making up as we went along “The Book of Calinor.” I’ll take it seriously and try to make it reflect us and our life, and maybe even our future. I don’t know yet.
I love you.
I wish there weren’t a veil between our worlds, though I suppose it would take all the faith out of being here.
I cry almost every day. I want to stop crying and at the same time, I’m afraid that I will stop crying. Does that make sense?
There is more to say, but it all sounds selfish and childish upon examination, so I’ll let it go.
I miss you.
Maybe if I was a better woman, maybe if I were more Christlike, I would be close enough to the veil to feel you. But even great prophets mourned with sackcloth and ashes. I am not better than they.
I do wish the veil were thinner…
My Beloved Hobbit,
God I miss you. I know I’ll see you again, but that doesn’t stop the pain right now. Stupid things seem to set me off and bring me to tears. I went to Foodtown today, by myself, and I couldn’t help thinking about you. I don’t know if I can count the number of times I’ve been to Foodtown without you. Maybe a handful, but now all my trips will be without you.
I told my friend today that I had this amazing, overwhelming craving for salt, and I couldn’t figure it out. She said “CRYING! Duh!” and I said “Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.” I have been on a low fat diet forever, but have been craving salty stuff like crackers and chips for the last two weeks. I guess I must really be crying a lot.
Work is fine. The people there are fine, but I have absolutely no desire to work there most of the time. I don’t even really care if I lost the house. I probably wouldn’t work if I didn’t have the house. So maybe God knows what he’s doing and how he set things up. He set out the net to catch me before I even knew I was falling.
I ordered your death certificate…
Something good did happen today, I got our rings back. I had your wedding ring attached to mine. Now I can wear them both:
I now have a schmantzy wedding ring. Custom made. Unique, sentimental and invaluable.
I think I’ll go to bed now and try not to cry so much.
Your Queen of the Faye
Funny story, kinda… I had to go home early from work just to be able to deal with the ton of paper work that your death has brought me and I missed the bus by a few seconds. I could see it pulling away from the stop a block away. I had to wait 30 minutes for the next bus. I called the funeral home and found out they already filed your death certificate and no linger even had a copy to send me. I thought, wtf? I’ve been calling for weeks to get it! And as the bus pulled up I thought “wait till I tell Sam about this,”. I’d forgotten in s matter of moments that you had passed and it was the whole reason I was set up to complain in the first place. Funny right? In a sad, I’ve no one to complain to at home sort of way…
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Today, I don’t like the bedroom. Remember how I painted it dark blue with white trim so you could see the doorways a little more clearly? I know you felt a little more comfortable in the dark with only one light to focus on (usually your computer). But this is not helping me. Dear Daughter helped me put up stars on the walls and ceiling, and I even put up a blacklight, but I don’t like the dark walls. I am depressed and I can’t say that the walls aid the depression or merely reflect it.
I am having a hard time getting a hold of your death certificate. It is quite frustrating. The funeral home tells me to call the county and the county tells me to call the funeral home. The lawyer needs it, however, and I will probably just have to make a lunchtime trip to the clerks office and get a copy–which is, of course, how every girl loves to spend her lunch.
Mother’s Day was ok. #1 gave me an edible arrangement. #2 bought me new lights to put up outside on the patio–and they are delightful–then he told me later that he was leaving the church. I said “ok.” I really am not into micromanaging or putting additional emotion into something that seems fruitless at the moment. I am emotionally tapped out. This is his journey, and I guess he wants to do it alone. It’s a lot harder that way, as you could probably tell him from past experience, but it is his choice. I went to the deaf branch and gave them your suits. I went to the hearing ward too, and I will be going out on Saturday with an aquaintance from R.S. Maybe we’ll be friends. Who knows? All of this has really brought so many people out of the woodwork to tell me they love and support me. It has been wonderful, overwhelming, and bittersweet. I wish it hadn’t taken you dying for it to happen. I feel so selfish, but I can’t seem to help what I’m feeling because at the same time, I don’t think mourning is really all that selfish.
Right now, I’m not certain I will stay at this job when my contract is over. If the house were paid off, I think I would stick to trying to write, live off my art, but then again, I’d probably get sick of being poor. I dunno. Today I was just really not happy with being at my job, and it wasn’t because anything had gone wrong. I have tremendous liberty there as opposed to the last job. They treat me like an adult and not like a high school student that needs to be monitored… you know… just in case I’m 2 minutes late from break. I’m trying to be practical. I’m trying to plan and make good choices, but I don’t think I’m doing a very good job.
I think our new parakeet is suffering from anxiety. The cats trying to get him every time he flies to the window probably doesn’t help. He runs from end to end of the magic window, trying to get out, until he gets tired and goes back on the perch we provide for him. He acts like I feel. We’re just trying to let him get used to being in my room, make him as comfortable as possible and happy, we hope, with his freedom–such as it is.
I really, really want to like my life–my life without you here–but I don’t. I wish I could at least be content with it and do something I thought was productive. Something I felt was making the world better, if I have to still be here. But I don’t. I had an email exchange with the probate lawyer and it doesn’t make me any more happy to be here following these bread crumbs that the spirit has to leave me because I just can’t think as clearly as I used to be able to. It’s like I have ADHD but I’m too depressed to notice. I told friends I feel like I’ve lost a limb — like my right hand — and I just don’t know how to use my left hand even half as well.
It’s more than a hand, you know. It’s more like half of my heart, the part I used the most.
Do I sound bitter? I hope not.
Why can’t I keep myself together? I just want to know when will I stop crying?
I still am not me. I have not found my new normal. I am pretty good now but I can’t seem to find a routine or do the things that used to give me joy or even a sense of accomplishment or meaning. Nothing tastes the same, not even chocolate. I really want to get back to being me, but I don’t think it is going to happen. I don’t think I know who me is without Sam here. I don’t know that person yet, and its kind frustrating and depressing that I actually have to do it. I still get choked up when I have to talk about him as if he weren’t here, but you know what’s kinda ironic? I used to have to remind myself not to talk about him when he was right there unless I included him somehow in the communication because I didn’t think it was respectful. Sometimes I slipped up and talked about him as if he were not there, or just taking advantage of the fact he couldn’t hear and teased people about it. I don’t actually regret that. Maybe I should, but Idon’t. There isn’t anything I actually regret about my time with Sam except I wish I would have given him more hugs and I am pretty convinced I would think that even if I had given him more hugs. But I am without a job, so to speak. I feel like I am missing limbs. It is not the proper function of a Noelle to be without a Sam… what does a seeing eye wife do when her husband doesn’t need her eyes and ears anymore? I don’t know yet…
Today was not a good day. I can’t say the weekend was all that good either, but you’ve already heard about that. The day started with printers not working and my mind constantly wondering back to you. I find I’m just not that interested in life right now, but I can’t even get myself to be interested in fantasy or science fiction, or much of anything. Maybe this is all perfectly natural. It makes complete sense to me now why men die so soon after their wives. It gets to feeling like “What’s the point?” I know everyone will say the kids need me and blah blah blah, but they don’t really. Only the house needs me right now. It’s the only thing that needs my income to get back to health, to be repaired. But I’m just not that into the house without you. I can’t bring myself to clean the closet, do my laundry, fill a scrapbook page, write a card.
I got a bill for your surgery and your first stay in the hospital today. I also got the name of a lawyer to talk to about your case. I keep trying to psych myself up to do this or that, but I still end up here, at this place, with a big black hole in my chest and wet cheeks. I want to be interested in something. I want to be diverted, but nothing helps. Even food does not taste good. Nothing makes me feel like it’s worth eating–but don’t worry, I won’t lose weight, that would just help me live longer.
I’m having a hard time wanting to go on, but I don’t want to alarm anyone. I’m not suicidal. I’m just not that interested in life. I’m trying really hard to find a way to pull myself out of it. It’s not easy. It’s much harder than the last time I was seriously depressed. That was just over finances and our situation (which turned out to be a blessing). This is something significantly more substantial, and I really can’t give much of a crap about finances at the moment, which would worry me normally. Who else will take care of finances now if I don’t? As for the kids–I just honestly don’t think they care all that much about me. Sure they would if I were GONE, but I’m not, and they are all pretty AWOL, except my daughter. I think I will rewrite my will to leave her everything. I will have to rewrite my will now anyway, since I had written it to leave everything to you. One more reason to talk to lawyers.
Speaking of which, I am going to be talking to one about medical malpractice.
I can’t write anything creative right now. All I seem to be able to do is write these letters. I’m not sure if they are actually helping, then again, I’m not sure anything can help right now.
I am wondering if your sister Bethany met you when you arrived, or maybe Billy Joe, or Steve. Maybe your mom met you.
I’m having a really hard time, Sam. Please come home, or take me home or help me think of what makes it worth it to be left behind.