Author: erinreeve

Six weeks now.

Six weeks sounds a lot shorter to me than it feels. These have been the longest 42 days of my life. Does anyone else feel this way, or is it just me? I feel like it’s been months and months since I kissed Matt for the last time.

I still feel lost, but maybe not quite as lost – at least not all of the time. I hate hate HATE all of this but I’m still hanging on and not giving up. It’s a constant fight and I do feel bitter towards Matt sometimes for making me go through this. But I can’t stay mad at him for long. I never could.

and he died six weeks ago

My husband (his name was Matt) was the only other person I’ve let read this blog. He’s gone now – stuck a gun in his mouth and blew his brains out – and I’m again blogging for myself because I need to get it out but am starting to feel so repetitive and annoying on my other blog.

People are such a let down. Matt let me down. My friends and family have stopped calling and writing. Matt’s family seems to have gone back to normal – except his brother (bless him). I’m sure Matt’s parents don’t feel normal yet, and I know them well enough to know that I shouldn’t expect them to always reach out to me. But… I am still reeling from this sudden and 100% unwelcome life change, and I am nowhere near back to “normal.” I don’t think “normal” will ever be the same for me, anyway. Lately I spend the evenings drinking with Ryan, or watching TV, which is typical enough but not nearly as enjoyable as it used to be. I get restless and lonely, even with Ryan sitting on the other couch. I crave human contact. I hate only having the cats and my blankets to keep me warm.

My LIFE WAS MATT. Maybe it shouldn’t have been…but I did everything with and for him, pretty much. I did a lot for me because he didn’t care (e.g. cleaning the house), but he was always around to keep me company and remind me that he loved me. I was so happy with him. Maybe I acted foolishly, I don’t know; I do know that I don’t regret any of my time spent with Matt. All I regret is not being able to spend more time with him.

I miss him just as much as I did 6 weeks ago (OK, 5 weeks and 6 days). I feel like a broken record, which I probably shouldn’t let affect me, but it has been anyway. I know I’m surviving, I’m healing, I’m still alive and moving every day. I can’t believe that’s the most positive thing that I can come up with right now.

Basically, just feeling sorry for myself

Five weeks and 6 days, in case anyone hasn’t been counting obsessively. And I’m just feeling sorry for myself today. Maybe that’s bad. I don’t know. Some days I do a good job of accepting my new fucking life, but other days (like right now) it’s much harder. This could very well have something to do with the fact that I just read over my paper journal this morning (it’s not fun to read). Or that I have another counselling appointment tomorrow. Or that tomorrow will be 6 weeks. But I don’t need to come up with a reason because the real reason is that my husband is dead and never coming back to me.

I want to figure out what I want to start DOING with my spare time. Lately I’ve been primarily hanging out with Ryan, which is awesome, but I keep wanting to get used to that which can’t be good. Because Ryan is not Matt, and I am not allowed to treat them the same at all, much as I want to. It’s so comfortable and familiar for me to be on the one couch watching something on the computer or sewing or whatever, and for Ryan to be on the loveseat playing Skyrim. I am in no way or sense complaining – I’m very thankful for it actually. But I feel like I ought to be finding other things to do. I’ll have to eventually anyway; I assume Ryan will quit wanting to hang out with me all the time. Before, I went to coffee shops and read and smoked cigarettes. I guess I can still do those things (minus the cigarettes preferably). Maybe I should. I’ve been meaning to start reading more again. Most of my memories of Cafe Coco are not shared with Matt, so obviously I would miss him but I don’t really associate that place with Matt.

Speaking of places I associate with Matt, I haven’t been to Aldi in over 6 weeks. I had to sit for several minutes at the traffic light at American and Charlotte yesterday, and I almost started crying because I couldn’t stop thinking of all the time we spent together at Aldi. I rarely went there by myself. I don’t know when/if I’ll go back.

I feel like I’m back to being a freshman in college almost. New life, new circumstances to become accustomed to, plus I have to start making new friends again. I remember forcing myself to participate with people when I was in college, and I don’t remember enjoying those times. I have changed since then though, so maybe it will be easier this time around. I can only hope.

some Tuesday morning thoughts

Mornings are still the hardest, as a general rule.  I used to like mornings fairly well too.  Maybe it gets easier as the day wears on because I get more distracted, or I get better at accepting my life as it is.  At any rate, I miss Matt a lot this morning. 

I suspect that I’m going to be the last person to be able to get on with my life (which isn’t really a good way to put it since the act of surviving suicide is simply LIVING – so in a sense I have been getting on with my life since Matt died).  Basically though, I was the person with whom Matt shared his life, and I’m still reeling.  I’m not going to apologize for it either, but I will probably feel weird bringing it up when everyone else has come to terms with it.  I don’t really have anything else to say on the topic…but am just thinking about it. 

I’m noticing all the grief in the world lately.  It’s always been there – I just couldn’t relate before. 

The most random things will make me want to cry.  For example, my boss just took two new sales reps around to meet all of the customer service reps, and she told them I’ve been here almost a year and have just been amazing and that they’ll be sitting in my cube at some point while they’re here training.  Obviously that’s a flattering thing for your boss to say, and I just want to text Matt to tell him about it.  He would be pleased for me. 

But I can’t…so I guess I’m telling all you people so that you can be pleased for me, too.  It’s a whole lot better than nothing, after all.  🙂 

I want to go to Target after work.  I’ve bought new clothes lately though, and even though I could use some stuff like a new broom, cat treats, and some Tums, I feel like I shouldn’t be spending money.  Annoying.  Maybe I’ll just stay home and work on a new quilt or something.  I need to keep going on that feather quilt.  Maybe I’ll do that.  I guess we’ll see.  I used to like being single because it meant that I could do whatever I wanted to, and whenever.  Now it just makes me sad.  I have to fill out a new life insurance beneficiary form and I have no idea who to list.  No idea.  I don’t like any of this. 

Well, actually, I am still glad that Matt isn’t suffering anymore.  I guess I like that.  It takes a whole lot of unselfishness to say that. 

Monday morning #6

Ohhh sighhhh….Monday mornings are still pretty shitty.  I’ve stopped myself from sending some arbitrary texts already today – I don’t have anything to say really, I just want to text Matt but can’t.  So I guess that’s why I’m blogging now. 

As recently as 6 weeks ago, I would go to work in the morning and view 5:00 as the finish line when I could stop sitting in my cube and go home to my favorite person.  The finish line isn’t as appealing anymore, but being home is still better than being at work so I’m trying to come up with some stuff to do this week.  Mostly – when I stay home anyway – I’ve been just watching TV and keeping the house clean.  Doing some reading – No Time to Say Goodbye and Without –  but I only like reading a little at a time from those books.  They’re not very easy to read.  I had been re-reading the Two Towers before Matt died, but I haven’t felt compelled to pick up that book again yet. 

Anyway.  So I need to start exercising when I get off work.  And I’ll need to start getting out and doing stuff, too.  Before, this wasn’t a problem because I would spent almost all my free time at Cafe Coco.  I don’t have as much motivation to go out there these days, not to mention the fact that I live further away now.  What do single people do?  What do introverted single people who aren’t necessarily looking for a new boyfriend do?  Join clubs?  Extracurricular activities?  I could find a suicide survivor support group.  I could start inviting myself to people’s houses for dinner.  I don’t have to meet new people right now; it’s probably sufficient for me to learn how to reach out to the friends I already have. 

Jot

I’ve noticed that I’m learning to accept all of this in my life. It’s not as hard as it had been – not as hard as frequently, anyway. I haven’t asked “why” as much, and I haven’t been fighting guilt or what-ifs as much. I still do – just not necessarily daily.

But I still miss Matt as deeply as I did that first week. I’m glad that I’m learning to accept it, but that gladness doesn’t hold much of a light to my aching just to be with Matt again.

Just musing….

So I’m just reading through Without, start to finish, and I’m about half way through now.  A lot of the poems are about his last days with his wife as she was dying from cancer, and he talks a lot about how they spent those days.  It’s such a different scenario than mine, but has all the same underlying themes and emotions.  It makes me think about how brave he was to remember all of that and write about it at such length; it’s so difficult for me to spent almost any length of time thinking about all of my memories with Matt.  I wrote out a bunch in my (paper) journal (plog?) and a part of me wanted to keep going, but I kept having to stop because I was crying.  But I’ll go back to it.  I don’t want to lose those memories.

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Another poem, sorry

I don’t have anything particular to write at the moment, but read this poem last night and really liked it.  It’s also from Without by Donald Hall.

Air Shatters in the Car’s Small Room

 

Distracting myself

on the recliner between

Jane’s hospital bed

and window, in this blue

room where we endure,

I set syllables

into prosy lines.

William Butler Yeats

denounced with passion

“the poetry of

passive suffering.”

Friends and strangers

write letters speaking

of courage or strength.

What else could we do

except what we do?

Should we weep lying

flat?  We do.  Sometimes,

driving the Honda

with its windows closed

in beginning autumn

from the low motel

to Jane’s bed, I scream

and keep on screaming.

Poem

On second thought, this is a stanza from the poem “Her Long Illness” by Donald Hall.  This one has resonated with me the most so far. 

 

     He hovered beside Jane’s bed,

solicitous: “What can I do?”

     It must have been unbearable

while she suffered her private hurts

     to see his worried face

looming above her, always anxious to do

     something when there was

exactly nothing to do.  Inside him,

     some four-year-old

understood that if he was good — thoughtful,

     considerate, beyond

reproach, perfect — she would not leave him.