Monday, January 04, 2010

First day of the rest of my life

So today starts a new routine for a new year and a new "us". Daisy is back to school. I'm back to work full time. S is back to trying to finish his education. The world, unfortunately, keeps plugging along, as much as I would like to make it stop for me. The world is both kind and cruel that way.

I find that I am surprised, almost continually, by the ways the world has not changed. The bus still arrives promptly at 6:45 every morning to take Daisy Mae to school. It snowed this morning, which meant that traffic was backed up and it took me nearly two hours to get to work. Don't ask me why I was convinced that I would be exempt from this ordeal. There are times you want to say to the world, "Sorry, excuse me; the little love of my life is gone. My baby is dead. Can't you see that I'm just not equipped to handle frustrations like lake effect snow? Can you please teleport me to work now?" Unfortunately, there is no one with whom I can register this complaint. God, I have found, is not inclined to bend to my requests of late; his having so recently re-assigned my Bug to a new job title on a different plane of existence.

So I am left to find creative ways to cope with the reality of a world that has not stopped and is increasingly expecting me to come along for the ride:

1) I find that I absolutely must cry, as hard as I can, every morning. Otherwise, my emotions, not being sufficiently exhausted, will sneak up and whack me in the back of the head while driving in snow traffic, or in the middle of budget meetings. I usually do this while walking the dogs in the woods. This works on several levels: I am alone and outside and the day is new and my mind can go where I will it. The dogs do not care that I am crying. And I get to take a shower afterward, so I'm not a ragged mess. I simply take out a memory that is particularly happy, or sad, or painful -- one that really, it would be a lot easier to bury -- and ponder on it for awhile. S has likened it to the mental equivalent to picking a scab. Anyway, I can take fifteen minutes and cry like a baby while the dogs investigate what critters have invaded the woods overnight. Most of the time, I can then keep it together for the rest of the day. Most of the time. Mileage varies.

2) I always keep a funny story about Kes at the ready for when friends call and sob on the phone to me, or co-workers appear in my doorway with tears in their eyes. The exchange goes like this:
"It's good to see you back."
"Thanks; wish I could say it's good to be back, but seriously, I want to go back to bed."
Now the crying starts. "God, I just don't have any words for's so sad."
"Hey. Did I ever tell you about the time when the Bug ... (insets clever story here)"

3) I always, always, always carry tissues, mascara and lipstick.

4) I do yoga stretches several times a day. It helps me re-center and breathe. I must be careful while wearing tight pants, however. I already had to get my emergency sewing kit out once.

5) I write. I write some things here. I write the really gnarly stuff in a private journal. But I write every day, even if it makes me cry some more.

2010. New year, new decade, new life for me. I started 2000 pregnant and on a quest to figure out how to be a mother for the first time. I guess I'm starting 2010 with a quest to figure out how to be what I am supposed to be from now on.


Sue said...

I must comment, because well, that is what I do:) Every day shall be a new day for all of us...xoxo

Mississippi Songbird said...

love you..

Anonymous said...

I think of you often.



Anonymous said...

Sorry for your loss...what words can anyone say about such a tragedy.

Do you mind co-workers/friends tears or does it hurt you more?

Beanie said...

Hi (whoever you are) Thanks for your thoughts and your comment.

The tears don't hurt me more, for certain. But when I'm at work, and I have to keep my head on straight, a crying co-worker can shatter my careful facade ("Dude. This is SO not helping me.") for an hour or two.

The interesting thing about this grieving is that it never sinks more than a couple inches below the surface. There is nothing -- and I mean nothing -- that can make it hurt more, but there are words and actions that can uncover the hurt more quickly than others.

I also want to honor the spirit of my baby girl. She was an incredibly happy, vibrant little kid. If I spend my life being sad, I'm not giving her memory and spirit the place it deserves. I want to share her happy stories and her happy memories.

Does that make sense?

Lisse said...

That last paragraph really says a lot.

I keep thinking about how utterly unfair this is....

Anonymous said...

I just want to rescue you from your pain.....truly I do.(((hugs)))

Beanie said...

Sweetheart, you can't. If I could rescue myself, I would. But sometimes pain is a part of life.

You can keep reading. You can keep praying, for my husband as much as for me. You can treat your own children with a little extra love. You can help me remember my sweet baby.

All those things help.

Love you.

Justine's HouseWreck said...

I know I'm repeating myself when I say that I'm thinking of you all. But, I am ... thinking of you all.

(* and, the word verification for this is ablesse. Huh.)