March 3 2020

12:32 AM

A funny moment with the grief counselor, after she'd talked about faith, and then this:

GC: There's even a possibility that you'll find love again someday.

Me: Ok, walk this through with me, theologically. Let's say that two years down the road, I've rebuilt my life. And by some miracle, I find a man I can love who loves me back. And then he dies. And then I die. So I get to our final destination, and they're both there waiting for me. Then what? Is it a big threesome for eternity?

Y'all, I think this means there's rejection even in heaven. I'm shook.

1:57 AM

A tornado headed right this way? In my storm shelter with three scared cats, a scared dog, and no Doug here to comfort me?

UNCLE, already!

Update, 1:37 AM: if I thought getting the animals OUT there was difficult, I clearly didn't think about getting them back in. While also using a flashlight because the power is out.

Thank you to all of you here, and to Kate, who talked me down minute by minute via messenger.

I'm now sitting in the living room, with a candle lit. It would be romantic AF but MY FUCKING HUSBAND IS DEAD. CAN I PLEASE GET A FUCKING BREAK?!?

UPDATE, 2:01 AM: Those power recliners that Doug and I bought? Not so useful even there's no power. Guess I'm sleeping sitting upright tonight.

I suppose we now have the answer to my question above. 🤬

UPDATE, 2:52 AM: there's another round coming.

UPDATE, 3:14 AM: Next round is starting.

7:37 AM

Eating yesterday: not a bite

Sleep: two hours

Power out since 1:30 AM; I'm sitting in my car, charging my phone, because I couldn't find the damn cord for the power packs we bought for our trip to Hawaii. It's also the only place I can get warm.

I know people whose homes were destroyed, and a number of people were killed. Why not me, dammit? Presumably, they WANTED to live, so why not take me out instead and end this fucking misery?

Doing this without Doug is too hard. I was having a full blown panic attack sitting in that storm shelter. It was the second-scariest experience I've ever had. The only reason I got through it is a number of friends who took pity on me and walked me through what was going on via messenger so I'd know when it was safe.

At this point, I'm just waiting for what the NEXT horrible thing is gonna be that'll happen, because it's been one thing after another since February 17.

12:46 PM

Here's how much my overwhelming grief has wrecked me:

I've been living in middle Tennessee since 1994, so I've been through several tornadoes here. I still get nervous, but NOTHING like what happened last night. Only once in my life have I been more terrified (I'll give you three guesses when THAT was).

Not that I was afraid to die (I think it's been pretty well established that I WELCOME death), but because I was afraid of being injured and in pain and alone, and afraid something would happen to the pets. That's the ONLY reason I even went into the shelter. I had a full-on panic attack that lasted most of the night.

Doug lived in this house with me for TWO YEARS, and we never ONCE had to use that stupid shelter. Thirteen days after he dies, I'm having to wrangle three VERY unhappy cats and one excited dog (because Kellogg, despite his herding breed genetics, is rather a grinning idiot) into the storm shelter alone, and sit there for a half-hour listening to the hail and the wind, and wondering if my house would still be standing when it's all over... alone.

My friends were incredible, and stayed online with me the whole time, but... It just drives home how alone I really am, and how much harder every single day is, and will always be.

And I don't want to do it. I don't think I can.

Any other time, I would already be in action mode: making food to take to people, offering to let them stay with me, doing SOMETHING. Now, I can't. I don't have the energy. And, full disclosure, I can't even muster up the emotional bandwidth to care beyond a vague "well, that's shitty."

That's a HORRIBLE thing to say, and a horrible thing to feel. But that's what grief does; it's so overwhelming that NOTHING ELSE MATTERS. And I promised myself that I'm not going to censor what I write here: there's no point about writing about this experience if I sanitize it to make me likeable. Because, news flash: I'm really not.

But, what kind of horrible person can't muster up more than "well, that's shitty" in this situation? Who's cold enough to do that? Who else could look at these poor people whose homes were DESTROYED, and say, "well, I'd happily be in your position if I could have my husband back. At least you've got THAT."

Doug's love made me kinder and more caring. Doug's death has made me cold and hard and selfish. I don't want to be that person, and yet here we are.

So, not only am I struggling to find a reason to live, now I'm not even a fundamentally good person anymore. And that doesn't add more points to the "pros" column, y'know what I mean?

5:09 PM

fter the 10- hour power outage, there was no more putting off the inevitable: I had to throw out all the stuff in the fridge that may have spoiled.

I've been putting it off because there were leftovers from the last two meals I'll ever make for Doug: meatballs with homemade sauce (gravy, for my fellow Damn Yankees) and homemade roasted garlic bread, and meatloaf with homemade gravy, mashed potatoes, and peas.

No, we didn't eat that way all the time, but Allen house rules state that illness means eating whatever you want. Getting ready to have surgery was close enough for me, and that's what he wanted.

I used to love cooking, and I especially loved cooking for Doug, because he was so appreciative, and he was a great sport: I experimented a LOT in the kitchen, and while most experiments turned out great, there were a few...😳

But he was willing to try anything, and I actually got him to enjoy a few vegetarian meals, and even one vegan meal. AND I got him to enjoy tofu, which was a HUGE win.

The thought of cooking holds no appeal now. Certainly, I can't cook elaborate meals for myself, even if I DO ever develop a taste for eating again. Why would I spend three hours putting together a meal with no one to enjoy it but me? More than half the joy in cooking is in seeing the one I love enjoying it. And how could I EVER cook THOSE two meals again? They're the last foods my husband ever ate. They're tainted for me now.

So that's another hobby done for, along with theatre.

Also tossed his coffee creamer, pimiento cheese (WHY is that even a thing?), bologna (same question), and his beloved bacon. I was staunchly in the turkey bacon camp before we met, but that was never going to be an option for Doug. So I compromised by giving him what he wanted, made real bacon, and just limited myself to one slice.

And as I'm looking at our now almost-empty fridge, here come the tears again. It's not our fridge anymore; there's no sign of him in it at all. It's just mine.

And I hate this, and I fear it: the little touches of Doug are going to continue disappearing, little by little, one day at a time, until all evidence of him is completely gone.

10:53 PM

Another rough day. Shocking, I know.

I've cried so much that I don't know how I'm still producing tears. I ended up with a total of about three hours of sleep last night, and I'm exhausted from sleep deprivation and stress and crying, but I know I won't be able to go to sleep until midnight or so. I haven't been able to do so in nearly two weeks.

My voice, hoarse from crying and screaming, has taken on a decidedly Marge Schott-esque quality. This is NOT a good thing.

Andrew came by this morning with plans to stay here today and tonight: his power was still out, and he needed to be sure he could keep his phone charged so he'd get up early enough for work tomorrow.

He got here with some groceries so he could make lunch for tomorrow, and some clothes and toiletries. Alas, he forgot the meds he currently taking.

No biggie; he lives only ten minutes away. So he decided to run home to get his meds. When he got there, his power was back on, so he decided to take a nap, and come back at 6:00 to grab his stuff and go spend the night at home.

Meanwhile, I was still emotional about my newly empty refrigerator, which led to another lengthy crying jag, complete with telling Doug over and over again that I can't do this without him (he was a pretty astute guy; if he's still around, he REALLY doesn't need me to tell him that), and begging the universe to just let me go be with him.

Amy Beth brought me the hummus I was craving, and I managed to eat a piece of whole grain mini-naan and some hummus. And talking to her, I started crying AGAIN.

I puttered around the house a bit, trying to occupy myself. 6:00 came and went with no Andrew.

Starting at about 6:10, I texted him: You still coming back?

No response.

Remember, he just started a new job, and his commute is a long one even when the roads aren't a mess.

For two hours, I texted and called a number of times. Couldn't reach him.

FINALLY, at 8:35, he answered the phone, and I immediately burst into tears. I didn't realize it until that moment, but I was TERRIFIED that something had happened to him. (He'd accidentally put his phone in DND mode.)

That's new. I've been pretty chill and hands-off as a mom since he moved out: he's an adult, and I raised him right, and I trust him to be responsible. I don't sweat it if I can't reach him for a few hours. This visceral terror came out of NOWHERE.

I'm afraid all the time now, TBH. I, who was super independent, am now so needy and fragile and scared that it's actually embarrassing. This isn't me.

Or is it? Is this constant fear and sadness and loneliness my new normal? Have I become someone at whom I would've rolled my eyes in derision a few short months ago?

I'm so lonely without my husband. Even a chat with my bestie didn't help. Nothing does.

There's no joy anymore. There are moments of amusement, and there are distractions to keep me from thinking about him. But joy? That, I don't have.

I don't want this. I can't do this. I cannot spend my days panicking and going into hysterics every time something goes wrong. And yet, here we are.

If Doug were here, we'd be watching last night's Colbert and Trevor Noah. We'd have eaten dinner (it's Taco Tuesday, so it would've been something Mexican). We'd be on the sofa, holding hands and making jokes about the Super Tuesday coverage.

I miss that so much. Those little moments were the threads in the tapestry of our relationship. And they're gone now, along with him. I don't know how to adapt to life without those small, but oh-so-meaningful routines and gestures that made up the daily life of our love.

I need a hug from Doug. I need a kiss from Doug. I need Doug.

And then the world's most painful mantra kicks in again: I want Doug. I NEED Doug. I can't have Doug, ever again.

I don't see a path to joy, either. And suggesting that I need to have faith that it will happen is a fool's errand: I had faith that he'd recover. I had faith that we'd have 20 years together. I had faith that we'd finally gotten our happy ending together. Forgive me if I'm all out of faith.

All I want is to be wherever he is instead of where I am.