8:53 AM
Four hours of sleep. I still feel spacey. All the time. I can't maintain a train of thought; I think I funneled all my cognitive processes into writing the perfect eulogy for my maybe-not-perfect-but-perfect-for-me husband. Having done that, I'm spent.
I remember snippets of dreams, but none of them includes Doug. Why would they? With everything that's happened in the past 24 hours - from my printer dying, to that stupid fucking survey request from the hospital where Doug died, to the critter scratching SOMEWHERE in the walls/attic/crawl space - WHY should I expect that I'd get the gift of seeing my husband in my dreams? Clearly the universe is trying to break me. Joke's on the universe: it already did that, one week ago today.
One week. Seven days. How can that be? Just a minute ago I was bringing him coffee in bed (true to my wedding vows, I really did do that every morning) the day of his surgery. I planned to do it for twenty years. Now I make coffee only for myself.
I can't breathe.
Today, my sister and I will put together the display boards for Doug's final curtain call. And then I'll be finished with all the tasks on my list. And I don't know what's next. I don't know what to do with the empty time - the empty time that's the enemy. How do I fill 20 hours (because I'm sleeping about four a night), every day, for who knows how long? How do I survive the primal agony that drowns my every waking minute?
How to I pretend to be alive when I'm dead inside?
No one can tell me the answer.
My grief counselor told me that I need to give myself tender loving care: drink plenty of fluids; eat; maybe take a bubble bath; rest. Which is a riot considering that I literally have to remind myself to drink, force myself to eat even a few nibbles, and we've already established that sleep isn't really happening.
I've never understood how anyone could be in so much pain that they thought dying would be the only escape. I didn't JUDGE them for it, but I didn't grasp what could POSSIBLY hurt so much that anyone would get to a place where they thought the only way to end the pain is to end their life.
I understand it now; OH, how I understand it. When I heard those mice in my attic or walls or wherever the fuck they were last night, that truly pushed me over the edge. If I'd had a way to take myself out, I may have done it.
It's too much. It's all just too much.
I find snippets of dark humor everywhere; I'm reminded of my favorite Mel Brooks quote: "Tragedy is when I cut my finger; comedy is when you fall in an open sewer and die." It's an astute observation of the human condition, no? One's own problems - however trivial they may seem to others - are always bigger than everyone else's. And oh, MAN, do I have a WHOPPER.
I told Andrew last night that I'm also reminded of Tig Notaro's "I have cancer" set from 2012, and I can easily see how this tragedy of errors could be hilarious, given the right spin. "Hello. My husband's dead. Oh, you broke a nail? That's awful! My husband's dead. No reservations available? Does it free up a seat if I tell you my husband's dead? You got stuck in traffic and were five minutes late for work? That's fucking TRAGIC. My husband's dead."
It's the focus of every conversation I have, whether with people I love, or with strangers.
My husband's dead. And even though I'm still walking around, going through the motions of being alive, consuming space AND oxygen, so am I.
6:07 PM
Early this afternoon, my sister arrived. We headed down to Missy's so I could pick up some pictures we needed for the display boards for Saturday, and drop off some of Doug's Vols gear for her and the kids.
On the road, I got a message from Tom, who has been in contact with me often in the past week. It is such a beautiful message that I asked him if he'd be okay with me posting it. Permission granted, here's what he said. I have some WONDERFUL friends. Love you, Tom. ❤️
Kathleen, you were on my mind all day yesterday. It wound up playing out in my dreams. I had four different dreams last night, all about you and Doug. They each woke me up. That is significant, because I usually sleep through the night. To awaken even once is rare. To have my sleep interrupted three different times is extraordinary.
In the first instance, Matt and Sully and Doug and I were trying to figure out some kind of dance routine for a show. You and Memory were there and laughing at us because we were so rubbish. Everyone was smiling and laughing and we were being stupid. I kept getting a step wrong and Doug would try to show me how to do it, and he'd be wrong in showing it, and Matt would correct his correcting, and it was a clown-show. I awoke snickering about 3AM.
Second time is much vaguer... I remember you and Doug walking in a field, holding hands. I was running (which, that's rich) to catch up to you, but you were too far ahead. I called to you to wait up, but it got misty and I couldn't see you anymore. I woke up feeling a bit panicked, about 5:45AM.
Third dream was just you. You were sitting at a kitchen table, crying. I approached you, and tried to comfort you, but felt impotent and helpless. I looked down, and you were cutting up onions. I said, "Oh, it's the onions, that's why you're crying, love." Your face got very angry and you explosively threw the plate of onions across the room and I woke up startled and disturbed. That was just before 7AM.
Finally, right before I woke up at 8:30AM, Doug was standing in a clothing store, surrounded by racks of shirts. He seemed frustrated and I asked him what he was looking for, and he said, "They don't have anything in UT Orange." I helped him look through racks, but it was pretty evident right away that they didn't have what he wanted... it's a loud color. He seemed dejected and said, "I guess I'll have to try somewhere else." He turned to walk away, and you came skittering up with an armload of orange clothes: sweatshirts, pants, tees, jackets. You had an orange toboggan cap on your head, with white checkerboards. You looked like an elf. His face went from grumpy to lit up like a child at Christmas. He shook his fists in the air in a victory sign and shouted "Ha! You always come through, baby, you always come through!" And then he hugged you. I woke up when my alarm went off, feeling very warm and satisfied that I had witnessed something really beautiful.
I don't want to pull you into some arcane conversation about the significance of dreams, but I can tell you that after my parents died, I had several dreams about them that were all at once surreal and weird, but also comforting and elucidating. The takeaway from my dreams of them was that time has no meaning where they are. I never actually saw my dad in the dreams. I got reports from my mom that led me to believe he was flitting around the universe being young.
I know you'd prefer to dream of Doug yourself; but I hope that you'll allow me to serve as some kind of intermediary: your love for him, and his for you, was enough to inspire dreams in other people. Take comfort in that if you can. I love you, and I'll see you Saturday.
11:13 PM
Peggy drove from Greenville SC today, and then spent the rest of the day shuttling me around (poor thing - she probably spent nearly ten hours driving today, all told).
First, to Missy's so I could drop off some of Doug's Vols gear for the kids and pick up some pictures for the displays for Saturday. Then up to MVEC to run through the slide show that Olivia put together so we could be sure we won't have tech issues on Saturday.
This slide show, man... SO many pictures I hadn't seen, and the stories behind them that I haven't heard and probably never will. Yet another heartbreak: as well as I knew Doug, he had DECADES of stories he never got the chance to tell me, and those have been stolen from me, too. And let's not even start on so the stories that were SUPPOSED to happen, but never will.
Michael and Kay stopped by MVEC to meet Peggy and chat for a bit. I hadn't seen Kay since the last time the four of us got together, so getting to hug her was a treat. Doug and I loved spending time with them, and it's yet another heartbreak, because we can't do that anymore.
We thought about running over to the Scoreboard for a quick drink, but I was starting to crash, so we decided to get me home so I can maybe sleep more than a few hours.
When we got back to my house (can I tell you how much I HATE having to change pronouns? It's not ours - it's mine; it's not us - it's me), Andrew came by to say hi to Peggy.
Unfortunately, the display boards didn't get done today, but I'll have Peggy and Katie and Patricia to do them with me tomorrow.
Our family (Doug's and mine) is incredible. Some families might have been... less willing to try and lift me up, given that we were married such a short time. But they've been so loving, and compassionate, and we've become this incredibly strong team, working together to honor Doug. I hope the bonds we're forging stay as strong as they are right now, because they really are my family just as much as the one I was born into.
Peggy and Andrew hung around for a few minutes, and then he headed home and she headed to her hotel. And now, it's SO FUCKING QUIET.
Doug didn't much care for silence; that was MY thing. Unless we were having a Big Discussion, he pretty much always wanted the TV on. Me? I LOVED silence; my quiet, alone time in the early mornings was how I recharged my mental batteries.
But now, the silence is deafening. I HATE it. I'm so used to chatting with Doug all evening about the news, and the Vols latest shenanigans, and my day at work... And I don't have that now. It's too much silence.
Yes, I know I can call my friends and talk, but that's not good enough. It's just not. Chatting about your day with a buddy is not the same as chatting with your partner.
Yes, I could turn on the television for background noise, but that's not the answer either. It's not the background noise that I miss, or the idle chats; it's OUR idle chats.
Peggy suggested maybe I should get a massage, but the thought of anyone else's hands on my skin makes me physically ill.
I can't stop myself from thinking of all the things I can't do now: long road trips filled with long conversations and comfortable silence; romantic vacations to the beach we'll never take, inside jokes I'll never get to make again, because they were OURS, holding hands, snuggling together on cold nights...
I know I can have road trips with my friends, and I can find plenty to laugh at. But that intimacy - that sense of KNOWING that this one person knows me better than anyone else and puts me above everyone else just like I know him better than everyone else and put him above everyone else - that's gone. And I CAN'T be without it, not after finally finding it. But no one else can give me that.
This "one day at a time" mantra, to me, is a big, steaming pile of bullshit. It's like Scarlett O'Hara saying, "I'll think about that tomorrow." As if there's some point of pride in sticking around to be miserable, but hey, maybe tomorrow won't be as bad - when I know damn well it will be, because I can't have those things AND I NEED THEM.
I'm tired of trying to keep it together (I said TRYING; doesn't mean I'm successful most of the time). I'm REALLY fucking tired of hearing how strong I am, because I'm so not strong. I am SO FRAGILE; the slightest deviation from a plan, or the slightest inconvenience, sends me right into tears.
And I'm exhausted. So exhausted. I want time to stop, because I'm scared of what happens next week. I know I keep saying that, but it's because I AM. Real life beckons everyone back to their routine, but I'm still lost. I'm still alone (YES I KNOW people love me, but at a fundamental level, I am alone).
I want to turn back the clock and tell Doug we should have the surgery at Centennial instead. I want to tell him I'm sorry. I want to bring him coffee tomorrow morning. I want him to hold me.
But what I want, what I need, doesn't matter. My life has gone from what we want and what we need, to what I have to do and suffer and endure and push through, and...I just don't want to. Not without him.
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