I woke this morning and rolled over to the horror that TAB was still not there. Things are different now.
* I need to lock the doors now. We never locked our door – not even when we both went out. While this neighborhood is obscenely safe, I feel I’ve got to do it since I’m alone now. OK, I’ve got Rocco and Coco with me but they’re not exactly ferocious.
* I have to get rid of the dead (mouse) bodies myself. No more EEEEEW, Hunny – can you make it vanish, please!?
* And speaking of not ferocious, both Rocco AND Coco need a lot of attention. They miss TAB terribly. They both need a lot of pats, skritches and treats. NO, I'm not projecting!
* I’m not gonna hear the doorbell so if a friend is planning to visit, they need to give me a very specific ball park so’s I can be downstairs to see them at the door and let them in.
* Also too, much as I love Judi Dench FUCK HER and her 81st birthday present to herself.
TAB will never be 75 let alone 81. This is wrong.
I believe I’ll take today off from cleaning, sorting, going through all TAB’s stuff. When I first started in on this it was a distraction from the pain of loss. Yesterday it was like rocket fuel for the sorrow. Nae good.
Miles will be here tomorrow. We’ll go through TAB’s stuff together. I’ll make a huge effort to not be an insane, wailing mess because, hells bells, TAB was Miles’ incredible, wonderful father. He’s in pain now too.
If I could?
6AM – wake, realize TAB’s gone, sob uncontrollably
7AM – breakfast, feed cats
9AM – email with chums
10AM – rage at the sky
11AM – crying jag
noon – hit the grocery for more wasabi peas
1PM – do dishes and laundry
2PM – wander the house aimlessly
3PM – crying jags.
4PM – cocktails with fellow bon vivants
6PM – sit slack jawed, stare into space
7PM – read in bed, realize TAB’s still gone – howl, sob, blubber, despair
I just found this post What not to say after a death. I’ve been lucky in that no one’s said any of these gems to me (of course, they might’ve but, ya know, deaf here). In any case, check it out for a laugh if not for instructions.
Also, in case you're wondering what my response would be to any of these common yet insanely stupid attempts at comfort, it'd be something like this: FUCK YOU AND GET OUTTA MY FACE NOW! And I think that's the calm, diplomatic version too.