What do you do all day?

Yesterday I woke to the first snow without my Steve. It was beautiful covering the ground and blanketing the branches. All of Steve's feathered friends were more visible at the hanging feeders against the background of sparkling white. The dog, perhaps remembering we brought her home with snow everywhere, excitedly ran giant figure eights in the yard. And it made me cry to not be able to share all of this with Steve.

I've written about how difficult it is to face a "first" without Steve. I said the grief cuts through me like a hot knife. Most of the time I know when a first is coming up, like for a holiday or needing to take the car in for inspection. Those I can build up to over a course of days or weeks if needed. Sometimes they sneak up on me, like waking to snow on the ground. These "firsts" emotionally drain me to to such an extent that I'm physically drained as well. It's difficult to walk around for the rest of the day after experiencing the cutting pain of grief, after crying so hard it's easier to wash your face and reapply makeup rather than touch it up. After facing a "first" I consider it an accomplishment not to go to sleep for 12 hours straight. Usually I manage to stay out of bed, but I won't be tackling anything more difficult than washing dishes for the rest of the day. I need that time to recover.

There are plenty of days where I don't experience a "first". Days when nothing is planned and I don't wake to snow. Days when I have the emotional strength to do something brave like clean out his sock drawer or clear off the nightstand on his side of the bed. Those days can be just as draining. Every time I pick something up to put it away, to throw it out, to pack it up; I have to say goodbye. Goodbye to my husband. Goodbye to the object. Goodbye to the usefulness it once had in his or our lives. Most everything is simply getting shuffled around. It's the decion making and the goodbyes that drain.

Here's an example using the nightstand on his side of the bed.

First just walking over there knowing what I'm about to do jumps my heart rate and breathing. I sit and kinda touch everything on the nightstand, tears leaking down my face. I pick up each item and inspect it. I want to see and feel what he saw and felt. Knowing his was the last hands to touch these things. I sob. I say goodbye to my husband again, to the life we had, to the future we planned. This is the moment where I may break. I might be okay and move on to the decision making or I may scream at the top of my lungs. I may need to have a miniature break down at the unfairness of having him gone. I may go through half a box of kleenex and not have a voice later. That's okay. It's part of the process.

 

Eventually I start making decisions. 

 

I riffle through the books trying decide if I want to keep them. Will I care to read this much about the Civil War? They are good history books with lots of research and documentation behind them. These aren't the crappy Civil War books with bad grammar, run on sentences and no reference list at the back. I'll keep these. I may read them. I probably will. They were his and I like learning what he knew. But now I feel compelled to see where he stopped reading. More tears leak down the face. No more breakdowns though. I already got the big one out of the way. Now I'm just sad. I run my hand down the page, wondering what was the last sentence he read. I leave his bookmarks in place, close the books, and go find space for them on the bookshelf in the living room.

 

I pick up his sleep mask. He wore this because I read in bed later than he did and my light kept him awake. I put it over my head, covering my eyes. It's too big and falls around my neck. I can hear his voice saying "my big pumpkin head". He always referred to his head that way. It was difficult find hats, sunglasses and even sleep masks to fit him. It was a challenge I enjoyed and frequently won. It's not enough to get me to laugh but it gets a wain smile from me. The mask is old and worn. It was long past time he threw it out and got one of the backups I had stashed in the linen closet for him. Woops. That was my job. Guess I fell down on that wifely duty. I throw the mask away feeling like I was a bad wife.

 

Now his c-pap machine. When I unpacked his suitcase I didn't know what to do with it so I put it where it belongs, on his side of the bed. This time a decision has to be made. It's paid for, this much I know. I won't throw it out when someone could use it. Lots of people have sleep apnea but their insurance won't cover the purchase of a c pap. Maybe I can Craiglist it, find a way to help someone else. I turn it over in my hands. Feel the heft of it, think of all the times I carefully packed it so it wouldn't break. Shake my head and place it in a bag sitting by the front door. I'll finish with that one another time.

 

Once I have the table cleared off, I dust it down, move it away from the wall and clean behind it. I'm getting a lot of spring cleaning done these days but only in spots. Now I have to refill his nightstand. An empty nightstand is just going to make me leak about the eyes every time I see it. So, I wander around the house looking for friendly objects. I find a framed picture of us. That's going in. A three monkey statue we picked up in China Town early in our marriage was already on his nightstand and it stays. As does the alarm clock. I bring in my stack of books I'm reading. The ones on grief and getting through difficult times. Hmmmm.... I should move that box of tissues over here closer to where I can reach them for those midnight cries. Getting up each night and walking to the dresser doesn't always happen and I don't enjoy sleeping in snot covered sheets. I need one more thing to fill the space. I bring in my needlework. I was cross stitching something for Steve for Christmas this year. It's about half completed. I haven't touched it since he died but I do want to finish it eventually. It's part of a larger project that I still plan on completing for him.

 

There. The night stand is done. My past is there with the monkeys, the picture and the cross stitch. The present is there with the tissues and the books. My future is there with the books and the cross stitch. I'm going to get through this. But I'm exhausted. And once again I won't be tackling anything more difficult than washing dishes for the rest of the day. I need that time to recover.

I've talked about the days where I experience a "first", the days where I'm brave and tackle a Steve-task, but there's one more type of day. The ordinary day. These are days I pay the bills, wash the clothes, or even have an actual weekend with just movies and friends. I need these days like air. They keep me going. I need a ratio of three ordinary days to every "first" or Steve-task days. Why so many? Because even my ordinary days aren't ordinary. Even those regular living days are draining.

It's winter now and the air is drier. Know how you walk through a room with carpet, shuffling your feet, reach out to the doorknob and get a little shock? Static electricity. I get those all day long. Emotional static shock (ESS). I get them with everything I touch and everything I do. Let's walk through an ordinary morning.

Get up, eyes crusted over from crying in my sleep again. After five months you'd think I'd be use to it by now but I'm always surprised I have to pry my eyelashes apart. (ESS)

Shuffle into the bathroom. Morning pee. Dog comes in and rests her head on my knee. I was working on training her out of this before Steve died but I kinda like the company now. I kinda need it. (ESS)

Wash my hands. Wonder if Steve would like the new scent of hand soap I bought. I always made certain not to get girly scents. A home may be a woman's domain but it is also a man's castle. (ESS)

Go turn off the house alarm so I can let the dog out. I just had the system installed a couple of weeks ago. We don't really have bad crime around here but when I have panic attacks they generally occur at night. I figured a security system might help alleviate some of that. (ESS)

The dog runs outside and immediately circles the tree looking for squirrels to chase. Squirrels are always there because Steve's bird feeders are there. I keep them well stocked and think of them as Steve's birds and Steve's squirrels, though we both enjoyed watching the wildlife. But I really am keeping everything stocked for him. (ESS)

Go pour a glass of orange juice. I used to never keep OJ in the house as Steve was diabetic. House rule was if Steve couldn't partake in the food, it didn't come in the house. I've gotten in the habit of drinking it while I brew the coffee. I'm usually dehydrated in the mornings from all the crying in bed the night before. (ESS)

Brew the coffee. This coffee maker Steve drooled over for a year before I finally broke down and bought it as a Christmas gift two years ago. It grinds the beans and then brews the coffee all at once. He loved this stupid thing which is weird cause I was always the java girl. (ESS)

The beans we buy for this coffee machine? Took Steve a year to find a bean we both liked. When he died I panicked because I couldn't remember what it was. Luckily he had written it on the bag. I've had to go a stock up once already, a twenty minute drive. It's time to go stock up on it again. Jamaican Blue Mountain Blend, in case you were wondering. I won't ever forget again. (ESS)

Look, I'm ten minutes into my day, we're already at eight emotional electric shocks and I haven't even poured the coffee yet. Each of those thoughts may not be as fully formed as I've expressed here, but the emotional reaction is exactly the same. This is why it's so draining to get through a relatively "normal" day. This is why it takes me twice as long to do anything compared to before Steve's death. This is why I can't keep a fully formed thought in my head - my head is already full with a running dialog of Steve.

When I'm asked what I do all day what I want to say is "as much as I can stand". It doesn't look like much but trust me, it is all I can do.