It's Coming

Friday. It's coming.

Friday is the 6 month anniversary of Tom's death. 6 months of loneliness. 6 months of waiting for him to answer me when I call. 6 months of unending grief and pain. 6 months of learning to live again. 6 months - unending 6 months.

Two of Me

There are two of me.
One sits calmly as days go by
Smiling, teaching, laughing, living
One sits in the darkness of remembrance
Crying, hating, screaming, dieing

There are two of me
One believes in the joy of tomorrow
Praising, rejoicing, hoping, loving
One has naught to be believe in
Except doubt, fear, pain, regret

There are two of me
I am neither
I am both

An Anniversary

The box came. Two flags, 6 rifle shells, 2 letters from the captain of the USS Stenis. Pictures. Mom and Dad were buried at sea. It came on the 1 year anniversary of Mom's death. Reminders of what is no more.

I am so lonely.

another Tuesday

A movie plays while the dogs sleep
I think my heart should sleep along with them
But it is awake
My mind won't settle
A dream is passing by
My dream drifting into the darkness
Time for a new dream?

If wishes were.....

If wishes were anything of value
The banks would overflow with mine
But wishes are worthless
Dreams are a waste
I'll stick with my vision
and keep with my faith.

Moved In

It has been awhile. I am mostly in the house and settled. The girls are resting on the floor by my side, dinner is over, and I am relaxing.

There is a peace here that has made it easier. It is a settled, quiet peace. There are parts of Mom and Tom here. The old radio is on the wall in front of me. Anne's hutch is to the left with my tea cups, tea pots, and Mom's Storyteller doll. It reminds me of a song from Fiddler on the Roof. Part of it includes, "A little bit of this. A little bit of that." It is all here. We are all here is some way.

Moving

They came. My friends and family came. They took my furniture a piece at a time. Soon, there was nothing in the prayer room. Almost nothing in the living room.

Sadness. Unending pain. Didn't know it would come. It walked through the door with friends and family. Every item touched...moved...removed. Every item filled with Tom and I.
Sorrow, grief, pain. Don't touch the chair. Don't move the box. Take the pain instead. Leave the lamp. Leave the table. Leave my heart to remember joy. Every item - a sharp, stabbing, sorrowful pain. Every move - a piece of us gone.

Moving

Tomorrow a couple of friends are coming over to help get some more packing done. As much as I want to leave here, I have fought it also. My house is almost ready and it is time. I am going to buy a bed for the guest room and have it delivered there so that I can stay there before the POD is moved. Sort of working my way slowly into the move.

Sometimes I think I am healing too quickly from the pain of Tom's death. I am laughing more, having a good time, and feeling relaxed at work. It's hard to think that I may not have loved him as much as I thought. How could I feel this ok with things if I really loved him? How could I move on so easily? Maybe there is something wrong with me. I don't know.

Not caring

I read in the paper that I don't care about my students. Since I have tenure and can not be 'fired' I obviously don't care about my students. I am safe.

It was hard to read that. My students are why I wake up in the morning. They have made the transition from married to being a widow so much easier. I spend my money on them. I always have. I want them to learn and do whatever it takes to get them there. This Popeye person says I am tenured therefore I don't care. He/She doesn't know teachers well. I haven't met a teacher on my campus who doesn't care about their student and what they learn.

I CARE.