4 weeks

I can't believe it has been four weeks since I've talked to Storm.  I can't believe I've lived four weeks without Storm. One month seems like such an unbearably long time to be without him. 

Some days are ok.  Some days I cry once or twice, and then move on.  Today was not that day.

Today was the day when everything was way more complicated than it should be.  Today, everything upset me.

Last night, I couldn't help remember that horrible night, flashing back to it.  I couldn't help seeing it over and over.  I was crying before my bath, and crying after, and crying during, and even crying during my bath time ice cream.  I went to bed exhausted, and got up feeling stuffed up and sick to my stomach knowing I had gotten to the one month mark. 

Two days after Storm died, we had to take Bunny, our white dog, to the vet.  She had lost a tremendous amount of weight.  She looked like she had been through a dog holocaust.  I remember sitting there feeling overwhelmed with emotion, overwhelmed with frustration, worried about money, worried about my dog, and trying not to actively grieve for my husband in the veterinarian waiting room.

We had to go back the next day, because of money, but we were able to save her life.  I still love my dog.  I still have my dog.

Bunny

 

Flash forward to four weeks later.  My daughter has adopted a gray Maine coon cat that has been abandoned in our neighborhood.  This cat is a lovely shade of gray and white, and very friendly.  So far, we've had zero problems trying to integrate him into the household.  My daughter, in need of someone to love right now, has become quite attached.  He got sick.  No explanation.  Suddenly, he was off of his food and water, and laying about looking miserable.  I asked my daughter if she wanted to take him to the vet, and she agreed.  From the look on her face, like losing him would upset her so much, I knew we had to go.  We've already lost enough. 

I didn't expect the flood of emotion that came over me at this.  The cat is not that sick, though the money was earmarked for other things, and amazingly enough, I still cannot benefit from the life insurance proceeds.  (Banks can really ruin your day.)  Sitting there in that office again, for an hour and a half waiting for the vet, on the one month anniversary of the day he died, made me feel like I felt that first day.  I tried to make some calls and manage some business, and that was too complicated.  So I just finally sat down and starting weeping in the chair.  I hate crying in public.  Hell, I hate crying, period.  That's when they called us back, of course.

On the way home, I found myself bitching at the traffic, bitching about the money, bitching about the problems I'm having getting my LOA and my short-term disability approved.  I so badly just wanted to shut my damn mouth, and I couldn't stop the pain and stress from pouring out.  Even though I could tell I was impacting my daughter, I still couldn't shut the hell up. 

My family came over, wonderful people that they are, and helped install my new TV.  Storm and I bought it so that we could go to bed together and be entertained since our shifts did not quite mesh.  Now I'll use it to help me sleep alone. I had to be very quiet.  I didn't want to spew venom at people who were doing good for me, but I just felt like bitching. 

I just hurt so much inside.  All the time.  Every day.  It never stops.  It doesn't stop when I'm eating.  It doesn't stop when I'm sleeping.  It doesn't stop when I'm living.  I just always hurt and I always miss him so much.  Sometimes I smile or laugh through it.  Sometimes I function.  Sometimes I just pretend to feel better.  Fake it till you make it.  Put up a good front.  I kept thinking I was feeling so much better lately, but I was just lying to myself.  This day was horrible, and it was entirely what was going on inside of me that made it that way.  I couldn't stop crying today.  I couldn't stop feeling this way. 

I am so tired of crying.  Crying is not something I like to do, it's something I hate.  I hate it so much, and I do it all the time now.  I can't not.  I don't even try to stop it.  It just pours out of me in great wet buckets.  I constantly feel dehydrated.  I constantly need tissues. 

I know that I'm not angry at the traffic, or the money, or the LOA issues, or anything else.  I'm angry that my beautiful life is in shatters and tatters, I am angry at my husband, I'm angry that my life is now so depressing that having emotional breakdowns in public has become commonplace. 

I want my life back.  I know that will never happen, but I want my life back.