One Year

I thought that I would write about how much I have healed this past year, but in truth, I still feel very much lost and empty, especially late at night.

I thought that I would write about the events of that late night, a year ago, but every time I start thinking about them, I keep wanting to go further back, explaining how things started, and then I realize anew that I don't really know how things really started, and what I really want to do is go back and stop it all from happening.

I thought that I would write about a lot of things, but instead, I spent the past few days in the company of family, and that was the best use of my time. 

Arthur and I finally moved the large china cabinet from the hall, where it has stood since we transported it from the rock cabin just before that place was sold.  And then I spent the next hour or so feeling guilty for finally accomplishing it, just as I still do for every little thing that I finally get done, having put it off for so long. 

The holiday isn't completely ruined for me.  I can look back on the good times and smile, even if that smile is accompanied by a few tears.  And I can watch my grandchildren enjoy a few sparklers with innocent abandon. 

The sense of emptiness is far greater after the visit, than it used to be.

An Old Belt

I've been telling myself for weeks that I need a new belt.  Maybe months.

When Robin switched from the "regular" low carb diet, to ketogenic, it was always for health reasons.  It got her blood sugars and blood pressure under control.  When I joined her in that way of eating, it worked so well for me that I was able to stop taking Metformin completely.  My most recent A1C was 5.5, and my doctor was asking me for keto tips.

But, for quite a while, even though it worked for health, she despaired that it didn't seem to help her weight.  Even following the strictest keto plan, limiting to 20 whole carbs a day, no more than seven per meal, her weight was stubborn.

To be honest, I think I started to lose weight before she did -- she mentioned it a couple of times -- but I didn't want to get on the scale, because I thought she'd get more frustrated if I confirmed that I was dropping pounds and she wasn't.  When she finally did start to lose weight, in 2018, she got absolutely giddy about it.  She started ordering clothes in the next size down, for both of us.

I think that this is why, after her death, one of the first things I wanted to do was clear out her clothing.  There's so much in this house, projects that she had put aside -- maybe temporarily, or maybe permanently abandoned -- that she never got to finish, but the clothing was what she was excited about most recently.  So, that's what hurts the most to see.

And that's why I've put off buying a new belt.  My pants are dropping off me, and the most recent belt purchase doesn't keep them tight enough.  But buying clothes for myself, even a belt ... that's not something I feel up to doing right now.

Today, when grabbing briefs from my underwear drawer, I noticed a coil of leather.  It was an old belt, one I hadn't worn in so long I can't even remember when.  I must have expanded past its limits and replaced it, but being a hoarder, I put it up and forgot about it.

At least, I'm pretty sure that's what happened.

On a related note, one of the pocket zippers on my vest has been broken for a while.  I realized recently that I was going to have to fix it, or get a new vest, before a trip coming up.  Something else I've been putting off, for the same reason.

Last night, I remembered that there is a box full of zippers in the basement.  Robin inherited it from her mom, who had been saving it for years, and we in turn have been saving it (along with a bunch of other stuff) for years.  I found a perfect fit, almost a perfect color match, and fixed the vest.

At some level, I'd like to believe that she's still taking care of me.

Easter Egg

I've been rummaging around, looking for Robin's journals.  She started many, but rarely finished them. and they are all secreted around the house.  So far, thanks to the disorganized nature of my search, I've only dented three areas:  her bedside, her computer desk, and her bookshelf.

A lot of found...stuff...ends up in her chair or on her side of the bed.  If her ghost is hanging around, she must be a little miffed over not having a place to rest here.

Last night, I hit the bookshelf again.  I noticed that one of the thicker volumes, The McGraw-Hill Introduction to Literature, had a scrap of pink paper in it.  Of course I had to take a look.

Between pages 342 and 343, I found her message.  She'd marked Anne Bradstreet's poem, "To My Dear And Loving Husband."

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov'd by his wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold.
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love lets so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

I held this book for several minutes, getting my robe dusty.  No idea when she marked this for me to find.  No idea how many other such "easter eggs" may be hidden around here.

I shall have to be mindful how I clean up.

I think this healed me quite a bit.  I actually had a couple of dreams overnight.

Recovery

I experienced my first auditory hallucination since Robin's death.

I used to hear her calling me all the time, even when she had not done so.  But since Friday, I have not heard her once.  Except for this morning, when I awoke (too early, again) and turned over, trying to go back to sleep.  Then I heard her, calling my name sharply, as if she needed me urgently.  Or perhaps not so urgently, but just impatient that I hadn't heard the first two times.

It was actually comforting.

I may have been able to sleep some more, but got a call from the Arbor Society, that her cremains were ready for pickup, and they were open til 1:00 today.  I decided to take care of that, alone.

Kyrie came to visit; I made bacon-wrapped chicken, and we had a quiet re-watch of An American Tail with A2 and the grandkids.  Then Kyrie had to go home, and I spent the rest of the daylight fixing one (1!) van window.  A frustrating, but therapeutic activity.

I already wrote about the stupid UHC letter, but if that doesn't take care of itself, well, I can call down wrath another day.

Tomorrow, I'll arrange for an engraved nameplate for the wooden urn.

I think we are healing.