You would think today I would have an opinion of a certain party and an inauguration.
I do, of course, but, it’s not foremost in my mind.
My mind is endlessly thinking of a woman I love.
The woman I connected with and understand.
The woman fighting stage 4 cancer.
Thing is … As much as I don’t edit myself with people, I don’t with her either.
When she was well, she never co-signed my bullshit. And I SO appreciated that!
Got to talk to her tonight.
I think she finds it refreshing. No platitudes. Just “So, what the heck? What do they say?” No “I’m praying for you.”
But I am.
To the God I don’t believe in.
I do like to keep it real and then SHE gets to keep it real with ME!
I get the full Monty, no editing.
And I get to ask again the questions other people avoid.
I love her too much not to know.
I love her too much not to be myself, and walk on eggshells. ‘Healthy her’ would HATE that!
Don’t get me wrong, I have bawled my eyeballs right out … Put them back in and ‘Amanda’d’ up!
Because, while I can be honest, and handle her honesty, I still have a very sick friend and it tears me up inside.
Next time I’m in line at the bank and people are bitching, I’ll say, not my usual, but “You realize, I have a friend that can’t even STAND UP and would give ANYTHING to be waiting in this fucking line!”
Don’t doubt it.
I’ll do it!
I think I must finally be forgiven for my comforter faux pas years ago.
(You can read about THAT here.)
Laundry Lady just came over to my little table carrying one and asked me, “Is this wet do you think, or just cold?”
Ha! Now I’m an official comforter advisor.
She has new teeth. I noticed last week. It’s so nice to see her smile.
As for glaucoma man, I was given quite an extensive account of what he called his ‘roto-router’ procedure at the hospital.
Apparently the nurses didn’t know what they were doing when removing his catheter and he’s still peeing blood.
I needed to know that at 8:15 in the morning. I really did.
He’s an odd duck. But, I would miss him if he wasn’t here.
It’s strange only lugging one laundry basket here.
I’m finding, in between missing my son, that there ARE some benefits to living alone.
Like, coming home and there not being dishes in the sink. Like, walking from the bathroom to my bedroom sans clothes.
I would say it’s cheaper shopping too, but considering I keep sending my bird money for food – that’s not quite true yet.
A man just came up to me and said, “You know, I don’t think there’s been a Sunday that I’ve been here that you haven’t.”
I have never seen this man, or his wife before in my life! Am I that oblivious when I’m laundering? Apparently so.
Well, laundry is dry (as was the comforter in my professional opinion) and it’s time to head home to my sleepy dog and bid Laundry Lady farewell.
Me: you’re leaving? But wait …
Me: I love you so much
Nic: May Neptune watch over your soul
Nic: May Neptune watch over your soul
Me: (internally) Wtf?
Me: (out loud) ok (followed by massive sobs and ugly crying noises)
Nic: bye for now
It all happened too quickly. Can I get a do over? Please.
(My status on Friday, the 6th of January.)
I knew it was going to hurt. I had no clue how much.
Considering the state of me the day before, work told me to please take the day if needed. I knew as I arrived home Thursday that it would be needed.
To pull closer to your home, only to see your child’s car surrounded by cases and ‘I’m going away’ items well, let’s just say I was sobbing by the time I had put the car into neutral and pulled my emergency brake.
This was it.
The last night.
I walked, wet cheeked, into a home I had shared with him since High School.
Suitcases and vacuum sealed bags lay about the living room and kitchen. His bedroom littered with debris from a lifetime together.
This was really happening.
I stood, purse in hand – unable to stop the tears.
The following morning was a blur.
After watching him drive off – I entered the house (no longer feeling like a home) and broke.
Into a thousand pieces.
I cried myself to sleep.
I cried some more.
I finally found the strength to enter ‘his room’.
And wished I hadn’t.
I grabbed a pillow abandoned on his unmade bed. Inhaled deeply and returned to bed with it. I clutched it so tightly.
And slept again.
In between the crying and the sleeping was the worrying – he was after all, embarking on a 27 hour trip across country.
Physically navigating terrain he’d never navigated before.
Just as I was emotionally.
It’s been 5 days since he left.
My dog, Butters has been out of sorts.
I’ve been trying to be ‘chipper’ at work. Albeit, quite unsuccessfully on Monday. I had made it through the entire day – catching up, slammed.
I was crunching year-end numbers just as I was informed the copy machine was acting up.
“I can only focus on one thing … I’ll call the copy people in a minute.”
A boss responded, “No, finish what you’re doing, don’t worry.”
And, out of my mouth?
“But if I don’t call now, Nic won’t come!!”
Our copy guy’s name is Christian.
Freudian slip led to tears.
They continued to fall as I stayed a little late and got everything done while everyone trod about me on eggshells.
Another jarring moment was yesterday. Nic had told me he would send photographs of where he was (having, obviously, safely arrived at his destination.)
I followed up and his response was:
“I haven’t been home yet. Lol I’ve. Been out all day”
Wasn’t ready for that sentence.
Not ‘our’ home.
And I’m going to have to get used to that.
I’m told repeatedly by people with the best intentions that his flight from the nest is a testament to my successful raising of him.
But I’m still trying to accept that. And, it’s hard. And it hurts.
However, I’m also very proud of him for taking such a ginormous step and embarking on a new chapter of his life.
For following his heart (literally, he left to be with his girlfriend of over three years.)
For bravely starting from scratch in a place he’s only visited a couple of times, and accepting the challenge to ‘adult’.
I’ll always be here for him.
I’ll always miss him.
And perhaps most importantly, always love him enough to let go.