Today marks three weeks since I, or rather, we lost my sweet Maggie. It’s been a tough day for me, definitely the toughest in a while by far. It feels like I’m peeling an onion of emotion, one layer at a time. With each successive layer, the deeper the pain and, presumably, the longer it will take to work through it. Today I think maybe for the first time, or at least the most intensely, I felt the thick and sticky permanence of her absence.
The last six months or, heck, maybe longer were filled with continued bad news. Sometimes daily we’d get hammered with relentless unpleasantness. After a while I think we just got numb or shell-shocked. Sure, each blow still hurts but after twenty punches to the gut, really, what’s one more? And on and on the beatings continued.
Think of it like you just got your legs cut off and someone is beating you with a tire iron. Beat, beat, beat, beat. After about ten or so blows you’d fade into some sort of psychologically protective state of not-all-quite-there. Maybe I did, too. Well, after the beatings stopped you’d think “Wheee! The feeling of not getting beaten feels a lot better than, well, getting beaten.” Pretty nice! But, eventually, the shock of those used-to-be-there legs kicks in. I’m pretty sure that’s where I’m at right now. Today, I’ve sure missed her just being here as my life-partner and best friend. All damn day.
I woke up to the absence of her voice. For holidays she was notorious for having so many plans that it was a challenge to organize. It would drive me a little nuts. Six parties, four BBQs, a few weddings, one or two quick visits and a movie, all in one day. We’d typically hit the ground running, with a beaming smile, of course, excited about all that was going to happen. This morning, however, nothing but crickets. Just me and two puppies, none of us jumping out of bed.
I spent the majority of the day at a nice Memorial Day BBQ with friends poolside. Again, the absence of her voice was nearly deafening. Afterward when I came home, the lack of her voice just echoed throughout the house. Her spot on the couch was empty as I watched a couple of movies. She offered no opinion on supper choices. And even now, as I type this, the getting-ready-for-bed noises are conspicuously absent. And no doubt, when I climb into bed, there won’t be much discussion of the day with her. I feel like a ship that has lost its rudder.