Monday, January 25, 2010

Message to Michael

Across the meandering path
Originally uploaded by Iftekhar Mahmud

My Dear Michael,

I am just missing you so much today. I feel so unhappy. I search for other ways to express what I am feeling, but they all lead me back to the same sense of unhappiness. I can pretend to be happy, if it makes everyone feel better, but I'm not.

There are breaks from the unhappiness, like this weekend, or at dinner out with the kids tonight. But even there, they all could see that I was unhappy. They said it in therapy tonight. I'm just not the same person anymore.

I feel like my soul has been badly bruised. I've been kicked in the gut, had the wind knocked out of me, and had my heart stomped on. I feel as though there is a dry puddle of blood always around me, like at a crime scene drawing. It is always there to remind me of how victimized I feel.

Today I kept thinking about the life we thought we would have. I remember sitting on your mother's porch three years ago, talking about growing old together. We had spent the day building a stone retaining wall. It had been such a hot day, and we were both filthy, sweaty and tired. We sat there and talked about moving out of the city so that we could have our own garden. We wanted a porch that we could sit on each night, and could picture ourselves as two old men. I remember smiling and holding hands as we talked. As we looked ahead we felt like the possibilities were endless. We had it all figured out.

I also think of all the places we talked about traveling to. There was so much to see together. You had already been to so many places, and I hadn't traveled over seas since starting with the kids. You commented about how easy it was to travel with me, as I was happy to do whatever you suggested. It was true, I was happy to just see the world along side you.

For some reason I kept comparing my life today with that of my brothers. I don't usually allow myself to go there, but I can't deny that I didn't. They are fortunate enough to do all the things that you and I never did. They have all been married for so many years. You and I finally had a window of opportunity, and I am so glad we did. I just get jealous when I think of time. How much they have, how little we did. I hear about one of my brother's and his wife looking for a new house, another brother and his wife going on a vacation, and another brother and his wife becoming grandparents. I can do all these things, but it will be alone.

It doesn't end there, does it. At this point in life all our friends are married, or in solid relationships. I see, and hear, them rushing home to dinner, or planning for the weekend, or considering their next vacation. I never feel rushed to get home. I sometimes feel in a panic, and need the comfort of home. Or at times I am rushed to pick up the kids from school, but getting home is just another reminder that you are not here.

I hate this.

I wonder what I would be doing right now if I didn't have this computer to turn to each night. Nothing else seems to be of interest to me. Everywhere I turn to at home, I turn to look for you, or at least glimpses of you.

This is agony. I don't feel like sugar coating it. I shouldn't have to do that with you now, because I never had to do that with you before. I like to think that you have a front row seat to my life. I hope you know my every movement and thought. I need you to know them. I need to think that one day we will be together, and you can comment on some of the things I said or did during our time apart.

I wish you could leave me comments on this blog. I'm hurting, and I need you. Life is just too hard, too empty, so not worth the effort. If I didn't have the kids, I know that I would just walk away from it all. There would be nothing to stop me. I would just get up off this bed, put on my shoes and coat, and walk out that door. All I would need to decide is which direction to go.

Where should I go?

North? East?

Maybe it wouldn't matter which direction, as long as I went somewhere new. I would like to maybe just start over. I wonder if it would help to be somewhere that wasn't a part of us. Somewhere that nobody knew me. I would take all of our things with me, maybe not everything, but the important things. I would keep them in a beautiful wood chest, where I could lock them safely away. Then I would sit on my new bed, in my new room, in my new home, in my new town...and do nothing.

I would write though. I would keep on blogging. I would try to find work as a writer, maybe a small town newspaper. I wouldn't need much money, as I don't like to socialize much.

I know what you are saying Michael, "what about the kids?" I don't really know. In my fantasy they would be just as happy with the move, and adapt to the changes easily.

Okay, so is there any reality in my meanderings? I don't know. I would like to say yes. I don't want to sit here too much longer. I don't think I want to continue to live in the life we had, but maybe live in the life that we wanted. I don't want to see the same things, do the same things, or even be reminded of them.

I want out.



  1. This is one of those times when I'm torn about whether or not to leave a comment. I worry that someone like me might be a bad influence. Is that possible?
    What you've written in this post pretty much sums up why I sold our farm and left to try starting over elsewhere. For most people, it probably wouldn't have been practical, but for me, it was both practical and maybe even necessary to my survival. I could write much more, but maybe I shouldn't. However, the one thing I can say is that I've met others who have done what I've done - moved on and started over elsewhere - there are some in this town which I've come back to for a second winter and intend to return to again next winter. I've also met others out on the road when traveling. It's what some of us choose to do. After talking to quite a few of these people, I've discovered that most seem to be "survivors" of dealing with really tough illnesses - maybe something happens to some of us. I don't really know -- it's just one of those mysteries that I've stumbled upon.

  2. due to circumstances beyond my control, i moved immediately. my Dragon's funeral was Valentine's Day at 11 AM. my daughter and i were driving over the bridge that left everything i'd known behind at 5:30 PM that same night. it was very hard. i felt ripped apart. i wished i'd been allowed the luxury of time to consider everything.

    all i can say is no one knows you like you do. they say don't do anything during the first year. i say, do what brings you peace BUT do it with very well considered thoughts and plans.

    i have accepted what happened to me, not with good grace, but with the submission of one who had no other choice. i miss the ocean terribly. i cry sometimes simply because i am homesick. but i have the blessing of being here with my daughter.

    there is a film i recommended to one widow. it is a film with women, yes, but the heart of it can speak to us all. it's called "Bonneville." look it up online and view the trailer and see if it's something you might want to watch. it was very spiritually uplifting to me even though i do not have friends around me as the Jessica Lange character does. but as i said, the heart of the film is dead on, i believe, for a lot of us.

    be kind to yourself and make your decisions with your own peace of mind in mind.