What a long, strange trip it's been

Paperwork of the damned, revisited

I had to get to the bank, because I still had all the checks that had been donated to the scholarship fund at Doug's Final Curtain Call and they needed to be deposited; I also had to set up withdrawals for the GoFundMe, and there's a clock on that. I needed to set up a new account for these funds (because it's not my money, and I don't want to mix it with my money). But my bank has gone to appointment-only lobby visits thanks to SARS-CoV-2, so I had to make an appointment, and the only available day this week was today. I should have known that would turn out to be a bad idea.

I literally rehearsed what I needed to say: "My husband died, and so I need to have his name removed from my checking account, and I need to set up a new account to hold donations for the scholarship fund I want to create in his name." I rehearsed it probably a dozen times, until I could get through it without starting to cry.

I failed to consider that it would be considerably more difficult saying it to someone else.

I got two words in and started crying. Not hysterically, but not the beautiful, single tear you see in the movies, either. Thank goodness I never leave home without Kleenex - at least I've figured that much out. Bless her, the woman who was assisting me was not fazed at all. She was extraordinarily kind and helpful, and made the process as quick and painless as possible.

I also learned that I can't set up the account in the name of the scholarship fund until I have a 501c3 set up for the scholarship fund, and I have no idea how to do that, which got me crying a bit harder: With everything else happening right now, it's not going to be a priority to anyone who isn't me. So for now, the money is in an account that's in my name, but it's a new account that won't be used for anything else. And once we have some breathing room so I can do all the legal paperwork, then I'll change the account from belonging to me to belonging to the scholarship fund.

I also learned that GIS still has its hold on me: I added up the totals of the checks and cash I was depositing THREE TIMES, and got a different answer each time. Clearly, my brain hasn't leveled back up yet.

Distraction sounded like a good idea

My plan was to take a drive after leaving the bank, just to get out of our my house for a few hours. You know what they say about the best-laid plans, right? I was far too upset and emotional to go on a mini-road trip. So back home I came.

I decided that this would be a good day to spend a little time distracting myself from my grief instead of wallowing in processing it. I made myself a tuna salad sandwich and settled in to binge Season Two of The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina - a show I watched but Doug did not. Not long after I started, it began storming again - a torrential downpour with moderate thunder and lightning. That's perfect nap weather, and Doug and I would have taken advantage of it to do just that.

But that thought didn't make me cry  - not more than a few tears, anyway. Instead... I can't describe it, but for the rest of the afternoon, I had the sure sensation that Doug was on his way home. (From where, I have no idea.) But it wasn't a delusion: I know full well that he's dead and definitely not coming home. And yet, I felt the anticipation that he'd walk through the door any minute, as sure as if he'd texted me to say "On my way ❤," as he always did when he was headed home from an errand or an evening out.

It wasn't upsetting, exactly, but it wasn't comforting, exactly, and it certainly wasn't a happy feeling. It was more surreal than anything else, as I hadn't had that feeling before.

Maybe that feeling meant Doug WAS close by after all. Maybe it meant that my body is churning out dopamine and oxytocin to make me feel close to him in order to keep me sane. Maybe it's simply that this was the kind of day we would've hunkered down and just spent it together doing nothing, and that put me in a frame of mind to feel him.

Or maybe it means that the total isolation has finally gotten to me and I'm legit cracking up. Guess the jury's going to be out on that one until I see Grace on Tuesday.

When you least expect it

Anyway, I was plugging along with Sabrina's antics (and if your only point of reference was the old show with Clarissa Joan Hart, keep in mind this iteration is NOT so light-hearted and cute), when I happened to look at the clock, and it was 5:25 PM.

For a minute, I couldn't breathe (and here I thought I was past that reflexive gasp of horror).

And then, I was transported through space and time back to TriStar Summit SICU Bed 12, where I relived the last 45 minutes of my husband's life as though it were happening all over again. And again, this was new: I've thought about Doug's final moments, of course, and I've written about them,  and I've talked about them; but this is the first time I've relived them. Is that normal? Is it to be expected? Or is this, too, a sign that my tether to reality is about to snap from grief and persistent isolation?

I tried to distract myself from that horrible movie playing in my head, but nothing worked: not reading, not watching Sabrina, not feeding the cats, not watching the news. My mind kept going right back to that room, and I lived every minute of it again. And it was awful. Every sight, every sound, every smell, just as if it were happening now.

I suppose I should have expected that would happen at some point, but I've never been widowed before, so I have absolutely no clue what to expect or when to expect it.

Once 6:10 passed, I let myself continue to cry for a half hour or so, and then went to feed the dog and fix myself some dinner (I'd purchased Panera brand lobster bisque from Publix, and sad to say, I don't recommend it).

And then I poured myself a beer (Blackstone Brewery Chocolate Milk Stout - and it's a delicious dessert beer) and settled back in to watch the rest of Season 2.

It was just a really weird day, full of surreal moments and unexpected emotions. Today, for the first time since Doug died, I was able to just be in the moment instead of worrying nonstop about tomorrow and next week and next month and next year. I guess you can say THAT was a relief, in a way. There was too much happening in the moment to think about anything else.

My stance on the whole "let's keep on living because... 🤷‍♀️" hasn't changed, so don't get all excited that I'm doing "better." I haven't been in constant tears all day,that's true. But I still feel as though I'm quite done with life and ready to move on. And I'm still don't see that changing, ever.

And now, it's getting cold since the storms have moved through. And cold weather is snuggling weather, and there's no Doug to snuggle. So I had a brief respite from "dammit, I miss every single thing about having Doug here," but it's back, just in time to keep me from going to sleep at a reasonable hour again.

Tomorrow, assuming Doug doesn't come and get me to spend eternity with him starting tonight, I plan to break into my art supplies: maybe I'll do some (horrifically bad) painting; maybe I'll work on my cross-stitch Jeremy Bearimy pattern; maybe I'll break out my flute, because I haven't played that in ages.

And I need to start thinking about what I'm going to do to get through the next big milestone: Doug's birthday is coming up April 4, and just thinking about that gets me crying all over again. I always took him for a fancy dinner at a fancy restaurant on his birthday: we rarely did the fancy dinner date thing, and what better time than a birthday, right? But I have no reason to go to a fancy restaurant now; it's not the same going with anyone who isn't him, anyway.

And now, I'm just rambling, and nobody needs to deal with that. I'm going to go put on my pajamas (well, his pajamas), bundle up, and watch a movie.