Time For Bed
Originally uploaded by Andy Valde
Just walked down quietly to my room. I didn't say good night to any of the kids, or to my cousin Fred, who is visiting. I suddenly needed to detach. I was at my limit, and couldn't sustain.
Sustain what? I don't feel like I accomplished much today. Bought some groceries. Busied myself all day, keeping my emotions at bay.
Today was not a bad day. On the contrary, it was a nice and relaxing day. One where I pause now and then to be sure there was nothing I was forgetting about. When I have days like this I often end the day feeling guilty, like I should have been more productive somehow. Maybe the guilt is less about productivity, and more about feeling detached. Detached from everyone.
Some days I find it easier to just stay a bit physically, and emotionally, detached from everyone around me. When one of the kids move in to give me a hug, I try to tolerate it, but find some excuse to move myself from that particular spot. It's not about who is trying to get close to me, it's about not wanting anyone to get close to me.
It hurts. In a real physical way, it hurts. When I get like this I feel like I cannot breathe. I can feel my skin crawl when someone enters my space. It's a terrible way to feel, but it is truly how I feel. I don't want to be touched. I don't want any one's affection. I would rather be sitting alone in my room, surrounded by empty space, and silence.
I walked into my bedroom. I washed my face, and brushed my teeth. There are Michael's things. I run my finger across his tooth brush. I open the cabinet and see his things. I grab two tea candles from the shelf in the closet, and place them gently in the candle holders that flank the ceramic urn that houses Michael's ashes. I light the candles, take off my wedding ring, and place it along side Michael's. My hand runs across the top of the urn. I then reach out, and place my hands firmly on the sides of the urn. I take in the texture, which is beveled, but smooth. I whisper to him. I tell him of my love, and turn away to get into bed. My chest begins to ache. I now realize how tightly I have been holding down my emotions all day. My chest muscles are sore and exhausted. A deep breath in, I wait, I listen to the silence, a deep breath out. Tears, doubled over in pain. I try to keep my sobbing to a quiet pitch. I don't want anyone to hear me. I don't want anyone to interrupt me.
I wonder why I am here. I wonder why he is gone. I try to remember what all my efforts are for.
I have an image of myself. I am sitting here in my room, sitting comfortably on my bed. One small pillow being held closely to my chest. I am needing some kind of soft object to take up space. I have walked this earth too long without his body close to mine. Death is so cruel. Death is so final. Why does he not appear in my dreams? Why do I not even remember my dreams? I know that are there, for I feel their presence in the night. Yet within moments upon waking, they float away. Some kind of abstract mix of emotion and emptiness.
I begin to breath easier. I purposefully stop typing, and feel the pulse within my body. I hear the static white noise within my head. It is so familiar, and brings me comfort. I grab his pillow, and breathe deeply within it. Even if his scent is gone, particles of his essence are there. The fabric has not been washed. I am not ready to release that part of him. Why am I left to find comfort in the night with something so random as a pillow? Why is everyone else around me lying in bed with a warm body beside them? I am alone, yet not alone in my predicament.
I know many of you reading find this oh so familiar. I hurt for you. I know, you hurt for me.
Another day comes to an end.