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Monday, August 8, 2016

Rain

I woke up again with rain beating on roof, it's the second, maybe third day in a row. This weather reminds of the weather after Bob died when it felt like the world was weeping with me.

My mood matches the weather. A sort of Edgar Allan Poe's single effect theory in action. I am gloomy as the sky.

For a long time, I have been afraid to blog my feelings. Afraid of -- what? Barbed wire comments. Nasty people. Bob's family comes to mind. They never liked me, never understood him. And grief is so personal.

At night, I sit on the back porch and watch the rain, telephone beside me, hoping for a friendly call that does not come.

It is so lonely here.

The guest house is now empty of Chris' things.

Yesterday, Bubba stopped by to drop of Bob's tools. The red metal toolbox from The Green Machine, the one we always carried in the trunk in case the car broke down. Funnels and rags and buckets for oil changes and checking the fluid levels. An empty gas can. The car jack that we once used to lift an antique cupboard up the wall. The green plastic Hawaiin lei that he had hung over the rear view mirror. So many memories there.

These things brought me to tears.

I had Bubba put everything in the garage -- I'll deal with it later. So I say. Even as Bob's clothes are still in the closet and in the drawers and the shorts he was to wear the day he died are still folded, waiting for him, on the bedroom trunk.....

Some days are worse than others. The rain does not help....


5 comments:

John Lightner said...

Hey kid,
Send some of that rain up here, please.
It seems that the waves are getting a bit smaller for me and I hope
for you also. It is easier to look at pictures and smile at the good memories.
Hang in there and remember to send me some rain...........thanks in advance
John

Denise said...

And today we are thankful we don't live in Baton Rouge. Flooding makes everything else take a back seat. I wish I had some words of wisdom for you, but alas, my stroke brain can't come up with anything. Just wishing you peace and some happiness for a little bit.

Denise said...

I meant to mention a blog I found a while ago, that might interest you. She's not a stroke victim herself, but was a caregiver for her husband for 12 years after his stroke, and has been a widow herself for four (?) years. The comments are lively, too.

http://misadventuresofwidowhood.blogspot.com/2016/08/from-phone-fantasies-to-hugging-widows.html

Barb Polan said...

Weather here has been dry, dry, dry. But it hasn't made my wit any funnier. Proof, right there.

For some artists, pain is the catalyst. My daughter, for example, composes pop songs, but can only write when her heart is broken. She got married the May before this, and hasn't written a single song since she met the guy.

Is it possible for you to use your pain to write the book Bob ordered you to write? BTW, self-publishing a book iN HARD COPY is really easy.

Jenn said...

Being thought of isn't the same, I know. I can't get over how fast time passed since our last phone conversation. It still feels like we just talked the other day. Weird. And then some things from the other day feel like it's already a long. time. ago. <3