It's been a week on what I now call my "widow drugs". The Zoloft hasn't kicked in yet and I've had a few interesting side effects from the Xanax. Like, if I'm late on a dosage I go to sleep for three to four hours. And my dreams? Woo hee. They are fun. Complicated and full of mazes and talking rabbits. Hey, I'm not complaining, they're better then any Tim Burton movie I've seen. Cause when I take my Xanax on time, those four hours? They are some of the most functional hours I've had in months. Actually. The first time I took it I did more in four hours than I had done in a month. I showered AND shaved my legs! Life is improving.
I took a couple of photos a few months back while trying to sort through the bedroom yet again. I tackled Steve's beside table once, then never touched another thing. Just couldn't face it. I did eventually move a few of my clothes into his closet but his shoes are still on the floor in there. My shoes are kept in a pile under the coffee table. It's gotten to a point I won't let people past my front porch if they come to visit me.
This last effort got me a bit further but I still have a ways to go. So, once again, I thought I'd share a few special items and their stories. Please forgive the dark and odd reddish cast to everything. Our room is painted maroon. Very womb-like for those times you need to feel all nestled in and rather infantile while moodily crying.
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This is Steve's little dresser catch-all. It's where he'd place his jewelry, his wallet, his pocket change, his work ID and his cell phone. I took his cross of the chain, where I wear his wedding ring around my neck. His pinky ring, which he never took off, is resting there as well. The change was in his pocket when he died. In his wallet is exactly twenty-six dollars, including the two dollar bill his father gave him as a child. His mother's prayer card is in there, too. Periodically I take everything off the tray, dust it down and then place everything back in it's place. I did eventually throw out his drug store reading glasses.
The tray is red and gold embossed leather. On the back it says "made in Italy." Steve's mother gave it to him when she moved. Every day in Florence last year, I passed a shop that sold hundreds of these trays in various shapes and sizes. My last day I finally built up enough courage to walk in and look around. I wanted to buy a new one, to maybe place in another room. Something to remind me of Mama DeRose and Steve. I couldn't do it, though. I so badly wanted Steve next to me to help decide what shape, what size, what color, what room. But it was nice to see reminders of them both so very far from home.
The perfume bottles are all mine except for the one slightly behind and to the right of the maroon bottle. That's Steve's cologne. Took us years to find the scent that fit his chemistry. It was Coach, of all freaking things. I've been wearing t since he died. It smells completely different on me but every now and again I'll catch an odd whiff and think "Steve?" and then look around for him. Maybe that sounds sad but it always makes me a bit happy.
All my perfumes Steve helped me pick out. I've always been of the mindset that I dress and, well, smell good, for my husband. It made sense that I'd only wear something that he found beguiling. I always knew he liked a new perfume when it'd suddenly show up all gift-wrapped for no reason at all. The bottle in the back on the far left I bought myself while in Florence. I've only worn it once but I like knowing it's there for when I'm ready to head out on my own. I imagine he'd have picked it out had he been standing next to me in Italy.
This is the ugliest puke green chair. It belonged to my grandmother. When my father died I immediately laid claim to it. It reminds me of a chair Steve's mother had that I wanted to bring home with us when she moved. I didn't speak up fast enough and it was taken to the dump. Hers was, of course, much prettier. The pillow, which can't really been seen very well, has both a bird and a monkey on it. It's a relatively recent acquisition but it reminds me of how monkeys made Steve think of me and birds made me think of him. Now, of course, I'm all confused as what to collect so my house is starting to look like some weird rainforest.
The cowboy hat was Steve's. He bought it on a work trip to Texas. It was better than the steer he has been looking at - Lord only knows where we'd have put THAT. He never really wore the hat cause he couldn't figure out where it'd be appropriate to wear in public. And I don't know anyone with a head as big as his who I could pass it on to. So it sits on the chair in our bedroom where I can look at it and laugh about his "big pumpkin head." (His words.)
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