I’m a Viking, but work is kind of slow these days…..

As I deal with all this damn loss, convinced that the universe is not out to kill me, but something much worse, like a life sentence in solitary confinement, I think of all the years that will come. How long my sentence will be without David, I can’t know, but there it is stretching out in front of me. I’m going to have to do something.

As many of you know, on all aptitude tests, I score very highly as an axe wielding Viking warrior. I do plan to continue my efforts to assemble a horde, but it is, as always, problematic. The coasts of Europe are much better defended these days, and lets face it, most of the countries are broke. Recruiting and exposition costs could far exceed return on pillage. I’ll leave that as a long term goal.

Cat lady is also a possibility. I’d have very low start-up costs. I’ve got the creepy old house on the edge of town, four cats to start with, and let’s face it, I’m a widow. If my town has an opening, my resume will make me a shoe-in. I’ll keep my eye on the local paper for openings, but it’s one of those positions that people keep for life and God only knows how many people already have dibs. I’m not interested in relocating, so this may never happen for me.

I’m thinking I’ll probably just do my best to carry on as I have. Writing, school again in the Fall, finish what I started, then worry about the cushy jobs. There are things out there I need to finish, work that I still feel needs to be done, none of that has changed. It just feels different, satisfying, but not like before. When I achieve something, I won’t get the hug and the words, “I’m proud of you.” from the person that it means the most from. Not physically anyway. That will be bittersweet at best.

Right now, getting through this blog post is difficult. My ability to concentrate has taken a dive from it’s normal low. I’ve been told to expect this along with confusion, forgetfulness, and a general feeling of “wrongness”, and that’s on a good day. As far as I can tell, I’m typical . So forgive me my ramblings.

 

 

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Things That Can Be Fixed Or Not

Last night I did the first useful thing since I lost my love. It wasn’t much, I shared some knowledge that I acquired along the way. It fixed something, it made something work.

There are so few times in life we can easily help make things work, most of the time all we can do is help others deal with things that are going to stay broken. I’ll take any little thing made right as a near miracle right now.

David was my family. It was from him that I acquired the knowledge to fix that little thing. He learned it from his father. Through love and true mutual choice of association of the soul, I became one of those that would possess and share that knowledge.  I shared that knowledge out of the same kind of love and association.

We find our own families, they can’t be arranged for us. Just because something is supposed to work, doesn’t mean that it always will. Just believing that it should won’t make it happen, if you’re lucky it will, if not, not so much. Read Joy’s post, she always been more eloquent about stuff like this than I could ever be.  I love Joy Joy.

I feel so humbled by all the kindness that has been shown to me since I lost David. I don’t have words. I’m working on a thank you that will do justice. I’m not sure I can do it.

I Got a Package Yesterday

Mail gets interesting when someone dies. Along with the same old shit, credit card offers, sale flyers, bills, etc., you get a lot of cards (those are nice) and occasionally a package.  I got a package registered mail. I did the clumsy, don’t let the cat out while you and the mailman fumble with the signature cards and the rest of the mail, and was handed a well wrapped, very heavy, shoebox size  package.

David had come home. He was never gone long and I knew he’d find his way back. I just wish he was in better shape. But then he hadn’t been in very good shape when last I saw him and this new circumstance is probably better.

He looked very much alive until he died, then he looked very dead. It is amazing how someone can so obviously be there with you, and then suddenly gone. There is a big difference between close to death and dead.

We were told a few minutes before he died that death was approaching, but he still breathed, his face had color, and his eyes still followed me around the room even through the morphine. I combed his hair, his scalp was still warm, I held his hand, cooler than usual, but still his hand. Then he was gone. He got so cold, so fast. His face relaxed and he looked more like my David, but his hand held no more comfort, it wasn’t his anymore. He finally lost the color in his face, I kissed him one last time and said good-bye.

I signed the papers, gave the info for the death certificate and had him sent to the funeral home. I didn’t see him again until he arrived yesterday.

I’ll bury that box soon. Right now I’m thinking I’ll throw in the Swiss Army knife he always carried and some quarters so he can get a soda. That’s what he always had to have when he left the house. He always had a bad day when he forgot either of those items.

God, I miss him.