Status Check

Yesterday was the 35th day since The Amazing Bob stepped outta this life. It was a Monday and those are now triple plus hard with a mega dose of searing pain to get through.

Late in the afternoon, I start watching the clock. At around 5:45 PM a fever of anxiety builds as I find myself transported, (in horribly vivid memory), back to the ICU where I'm holding my beautiful man’s hand, whispering endearments and comforts into his ear. His breathing sounds like rocks tumbling in a vat of cold molasses. And then, at 6:15, he's gone.

Facing the day, any of ‘em, is becoming slightly less horrifying. I’m able to get out of bed, feed our herd of cat, do the dishes, pay bills, clean, tidy, read and sit on the seawall watching the color of the sky and water change as the sun makes its way across this big, blue, celestial marble. I’m, oddly, able to do all this even though TAB’s not by my side. Neither is he sitting in his big chair with Coco on his lap. Weird.

I hesitate to say that the monster pain is easier to bear now, after 35 days. Nothing is easy without Bob. 

A friend, who’s mother died this past year, leaving his father a widower, said that his Da has good days and bad.

At this point, for me, I have bearable moments where I’m able to smile and goggle at the sunrise, grin at Coco and Rocco’s antics. I’m even, on rare occasion, able to crack the odd witticism. Then there are the oppressive, harrowing moments where my soul/heart feel as though it just can’t continue – not for even one more minute. There are whole days where I'm blinded by grief.

There are no good days yet. There will be.

Jen and Oni have been/are magnificent. I don't know that I would be surviving this without them.  They are the best.

Just to be clear, I WILL survive this. I WILL get through this monsoon of agonizing sorrow. There WILL be good days once more. Someday.