We Just Live With It

I can go through a day without a serious thought about Adam. This probably doesn’t sound very sweet or romantic. Adam is a presence in my life always; grief and love is something I carry now as easily as a glass of water.

But I don’t mourn anymore. Sometimes, usually at night, my thoughts will wander to the last day in the hospital, but I’ve learned to redirect my thoughts. Memories of turning off life support really hold no positive purpose in my life.

Sometimes, I’ll say something that reminds me of him; or a friend, a book or a TV show will remind me of him. But I don’t generally cry about his loss anymore. Sometimes, I’ll hear a story about him I’ve never heard, or someone will say his name, and maybe my eyes will shine up a little.

He is dead. I’ve heard all the platitudes in the last 4.5 years. I know what’s happening to me today is normal and has nothing to do with anything except the sometimes overwhelming feeling of “how the fuck did I get here?”

What’s happening to me today, you ask? I can’t open a fucking bucket. And I got pissed at Adam because he’s dead and now it’s my house and I have to do this alone. And I completely, 100% broke down like I haven’t in years.

I know I can call a dozen people right now who will open that fucking bucket in five minutes. That’s not the point. The point is that death lingers, and sometimes it overwhelms you.

I know why this is happening. It’s because yesterday I felt a keen sense of betrayal. I implicitly believe everyone is telling me the truth. Maybe if I’d been more cynical I wouldn’t have believed Adam when he said “I haven’t been drinking” and he’d be alive. Why would anyone lie? (Listen, I don’t need a lecture on why Adam lied about his drinking, I know why. These are irrational thoughts.)

I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m writing and sharing. No, I do know. Because I had to. We are all struggling in some way. Hell, I know, my life is really good right now. I’m happy most of the time. But I just want to say that I’m not always OK. And when, I’m not OK, it’s generally because something minor has brought up the grief and profound loss in my life. And sometimes, when it hits me again that Adam is not part of my life anymore, it hurts. It hurts that I can’t yell “I can’t get this fucking bucket open” and he’d laugh and say “Ok, hon.”

I hate that there are probably people out there saying, “oh, she’s still talking about grief over her husband.” But not a single one of you would say that if I instead broke down today because I missed my dad. I still feel like people don’t think I’m “healed” because sometimes I miss my best friend.

Ok. I got that out. I’ve also now watched a video on how to open that bucket. So, I’m going to listen to some Neil Diamond and paint my house.

Also, this is my favorite picture of us. When I go dark and think about how he looked when he was dying, this is the picture I conjure up. Denver, early 200s.