ugh. I am wandering in the realm of overwhelmed. I feel like I have been wandering there long enough that I should start to pay rent soon. And if possession is .9 of the law, I wonder if that means I might own part of that land.
I find that I want desperately to focus on the things I am grateful for, but how can I find ways to be grateful for things when every time I focus there, I feel guilty because he is gone? He wanted to live forever. He hated thinking or talking about dying. I wonder how someone who was so afraid of death could have faced it so simply, so bravely. My thought is that it had to do with his stubborn nature, his determination, and the fact that GBM patients just, well, shut down...they get more and more tired and they fall asleep and are gone. And I guess that is how he went. I also guess that this is a more or less decent way to go, insofar as it is painless and could be so much worse, with cancer.
I find that I am deeply afraid. People on the outside tell me how much courage I have, which is quite a comfort and compliment. Because I don't see it. I don't feel it. I feel lost and small and foolish and lonely. I kissed a neighbor of mine. He is the same age that John was when he died. It was very very nice. I didn't expect it. And then he ended it, before it began. And now, I feel like he opened the door to a whole lot of angry inside me. I am angry that the universe took John....I'm angry that I keep hoping for stupid shit that won't work. I am angry that I live in a country where I can have so much and feel like I still have so little...I have a home, I have a bed and I have a computer, a cell phone, more than one television, a blueray, an ipad...when I met John, I don't think I had very many of those things. He wanted to move me into the 21st Century. I had been renting a room in one farm house, with no heat and horrible wood stoves. Our toilet water actually froze during winter break. Then I rented a room in another farm house with a pool and heat and cable, but still...a farm house. He teased me. Both the flat screens we have were presents I bought for him for different Christmases. The blueray player was a Christmas gift from me to him as well.
I don't think that means anything. It's just an observation. I don't care about stuff very much. A year is not that much time. I think of him every day. I feel the lonely every day.
I think that there are not really good or bad people. I think there are lots and lots of mixed up people. I have no amazing quotes. I have no advice or insight. I find my mind wandering to the loss of breath the day his diagnosis came through. I think of Aiden diving and wish like hell that I could get him diving more. I want Cilly to dive.
Basically, it terrifies the HELL out of me that all of it and everything is all about me. I am intensely overwhelmed by all I have to hold up, and I do my best to pray deeply that love mixed with fear and confusion can carry us through. Because, well, I DO have a lot of love...so.