I'm still the same person I was before I lost David. At least, I think I am. I feel like I am still me, only way more aware of how quickly life can go sideways and the rug can be pulled out from underneath me. I miss him everyday, but I feel stronger on some days and like I can't catch my breath on others. I am usually still quick with a joke or a humorous observation but I also cry quietly in Sam's Club when I walk past the brand of socks I used to buy for David. I guess you could say I feel like a shell of my former self, but I know I am still in there somewhere. The old me is guarded by the understanding that anyone and anything can be ripped from your life without any warning or real explanation.
I took my dog for a dental procedure the other day. When I signed the release form before they took her back, I had to initial a section to choose between them taking lifesaving measures or a DNR if she doesn't respond well to the anesthesia or should other complications arise. I checked the box for the DNR because I am in a dark place, life is fleeting, and it's hard to imagine suffering anymore than I already have. The procedure went well and she is healing nicely. It also cost about half of what they estimated it could, so that felt like an all-around win for me. She didn't die, but I was prepared if she had. If you don't answer my call, there is a part of me that is preparing for you to be dead. It's pretty dark where I live right now, but I think I am just protecting myself from any more unexpected losses. Because how could I suffer more?
Let me quickly make sure the Universe understands that this is in no way a challenge to see how much more I could lose....just to be clear!
Last month would have been our 21st wedding anniversary. Since Pismo Beach was always our go-to place when we wanted a quick getaway either as a couple or a family, I booked a room at a hotel where he and I had always talked about staying but never did. I did all the things we would usually do, but alone. I bought cheap jewelry on the pier, ate clam chowder (Splash Cafe, of course!), bought candy at Hotlix, and sat on the beach to watch the waves and the other families enjoying their day. It was difficult and sad, but it also felt very right and necessary. I felt both closer to David and I also missed him more than ever. When I passed a UPS driver making deliveries, I amused myself with the conversation I know I would have had with David. He would have been jealous of the weather the driver works in, but he would not have envied the higher cost of living and the hellish tourist seasons. Those brown trucks stood out to him no matter where we went, to the point where he often felt like his job was following him on his vacation days.
I have found myself preferring the company of people who have suffered similar losses and have connected with some amazing people in the process. It's like we are all in a sad, dark club where no one actually wants to be a member, but we are thankful to have each other. It's soothing to be with other people who *get it*, even though we hate that we all do. I met a small group of women who meet in person and a few Facebook groups that have made me both laugh and cry. I feel most like myself when I am surrounded by like-minded people who know my pain.
I am just trying to move forward most days. Sometimes, I don't move at all but sit still and try to immerse myself in what used to be. I can't live there, though. The world keeps on turning and it's a gift to be able to turn with it. We shouldn't take that for granted, even on the days when we want no part of what this world has to offer. On those days, I crawl inside my theoretical hidey-hole and just sit with it all. While it felt more difficult than it should have been, I completed my master's degree and have started looking for jobs. Aside from the substitute teaching gig, it has been so long since I have been a part of the workforce and I am sort of scared shitless. The original plan was for me to be able to ease into working once I completed my degree, but this past year or two has taught me that ultimate outcomes aren't really up to us. I'm not sure if I will ever be able to make concrete plans for the future again. Instead, I will focus on the direction I want to go and hope for the best. While also preparing for the worst.
I also collected a few little shells and rocks I found as I walked on the beach on our anniversary. I identify with those shell pieces, especially the broken ones. But, unlike those shells, I am not the final version of myself. I'm still in there somewhere, even if there will always be pieces missing. For now, it's safer to hunker down in my shell. Never the same but always me.
