I see that I have been working all week, not trying to keep the thoughts at bay, but doing so anyway. The calls, the letters, the visits, the figuring out, and the cleaning up make me so tired right now at night that there has been no big chance to think, but walking, shopping for what we need for our trip, playing and talking to Julia, and I am thinking again.
And changing. I feel like I am changing, by the day, by the minute. I wonder and then I am sure that people who have lost long time partners feel this way. I am not running away, instead I am moving away from the life that I have shared with one person, my person, and towards a life that I am more single. Not single exactly. But us without one of us. I don't have a hole inside but the impression of an always that has ended, at least in the conventional sense.
So changing. When Cheshire and I stood by David's bedside after he had died, I did not want to move. It was that when we moved, we would move away from David, we would share this terrible change with the world, and it would become real. And we would move beyond David's ken, beyond the life that we shared, beyond and into somewhere I did not want to go.
But move we did, and took in the world as it was then reconstituted. I have been living terribly in the present -- maybe not terrible, but very changed. And if I must live in this changed world, then I do not want to live as if the world was as I knew it with David. I cannot seem to imagine a past or future. I have lived in those times since I was a child, touching down in the present only when it was necessary, and surely, always, amusing myself, diverting myself with my imaginings. I cannot do that now. I am only now, and it is very strange.
Bear with these ramblings.
I am going wild. I have told some people about this -- Cheshire, Lisa, Barbara, a few others. And no worries about changing too quickly or making rash decisions. I am way too conservative is so many ways -- a good middle class upbringing -- nothing will happen quickly. But it will begin. Begin now. Began so soon after the moment that David was no more.
I have no intention in living as we lived. We have been utterly conventional for years and years, since law school, maybe since we got married. Now I want utter change. This morning we had cold soba noodles and dumplings for breakfast. Julia loved it. I moved my bed yesterday, and the shape of the room changed. I want to do my renovation but I want to satisfy myself completely. Gosh, these are so insignificant that they cannot explain how I feel -- but they are the first small steps on a spiral. I am sure.
I want to do what I can for children like Julia -- maybe trauma, maybe autism, maybe just the neuro-effects of neglect and trauma. I want to do something for those children and their families. I cannot become a doctor or therapist -- I am frankly too old for those adventures. Too old in my own mind, I don't want to take the time either would involve. But I can still do things.
I will take the LEND course that I was accepted into a few weeks ago, and see where it leads. If that itself doesn't present me with opportunities, then after a time, I will go to China and create a foster home for older girls who could be adopted, or go to Bolivia and work to get that country's orphans into homes and to open it to international adoption, or move to the place with the most advanced autism research in the world and help them somehow.
And I will write. Probably most and always, something like the books and books of journals that sit on my shelves, and the entries in this blog. Maybe a book -- What is the most recent about a life after tragedy? There will have to be another of those. Maybe one like that -- one where the writer is still PTO president and teaches her challenged child about dinosaurs and cannot immediately move to Paris.
I write this in whispers of prayers that it will be so. It is hard to shout right now. I don't know how David would feel about any of this, except I know that he too longed for adventure when we were able. I hope that the able time is coming. I hope it is now.
3 comments:
My Scott doesn't worry. Doesn't worry at all. When I was critically ill six years ago; thoracotomy, five chest tubes, 2 1/2 weeks in the hospital, ten blood transfusions, etc., he didn't worry. He's a rock like that. Complete faith. Until now. David's death has affected him somehow. Reading your words, loving who you are, caring for you has made this affect him.
He comes up behind me multiple times a day to touch, kiss my head, nuzzle my neck and he'll quietly whisper, "Don't leave me. Let me go first." I've never seen him like this. I've never seen him think of anything in a worrysome sort of way.
A small message from Scott's wife to his friend Suzanne, he's thinking about you and praying for you daily and David's death is making all of us look around and appreciate today, this moment, and those closest.
Hugs from OH!
Traci & Scott
Traci,
My heart is with all of you. I see all around me that David's death has caused ripples in our world. We are all seemingly immortal when we are young. That is not such a bad thing. I've always thought it helps get lots of stuff invented, discovered, and done. I would say for the last 4 months, after the transplant and before the gall bladder infection, we were cocky, we were sure of the miracle, we once again knew we have plenty of time.
We all need to love each other every day because it really can be our last day.
It is amazing that right now I am deeply sad, sometimes lonely, emotionally lost, but I do not regret. I am, at least for now, free of regret. I loved David every day, and we worked hard to make our live together work. That single lack of feeling -- the lack of regret -- is an incredible blessing. It makes me very strong when i faulter.
Love to all the Smiths!
S
I see signs of the old Suzanne coming back. I am glade for that. But we all miss David and his memory will go on forever. As you move forward always know you are loved and always will be. Give Julia a big hug from her Aunt Carol & Uncle Bill.
Love you all,
Carol
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