I just realized it wasn't the supplemental health insurance that the insurance agent told me was cancelled - it was Jerry's dental insurance. Was feeling apologetic until it occurred to me that the agent didn't think to cancel the supplemental health insurance.
Also had the thought flit through my brain for a moment just now that all these people who are sending me cards and photographs and messages are being so kind for no reason - it's all under false pretenses - because Jerry is... well, you know by now where my brain went. Off into the realm of "Jerry isn't really dead." It was only a momentary thought, but it felt real for a second, real beyond whatever strangeness is going on in my thinking. Not sure I'm being coherent, or that I'm really able to explain what I mean. Just that I had a moment of absolute certainty that Jerry is coming back. I know it's not true, but it felt true for a moment. Which is definitely a case of going in the wrong direction with regard to trying to adjust to this new, horrific reality.
Went through more papers today. If I was surprised to see them after this past decade where they sat unnoticed in the basement, I certainly hadn't missed them, and into the recycling and/or shredder they went. Basement... hmm, reminds me that I haven't heard the dehumidifiers going for a while, which means the buckets must be full up. I'll empty them tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow I might start work finishing parts for what could be the final job for Wood Bros., Inc. Custom Cabinetmakers, if the customers have picked a stain color and Seamus gets parts cut. Oh, Jerry - I so wish we could save the business and keep it going. Wood Bros. did such beautiful work, even when the finished product was in appallingly bad taste (you can't dictate to customers who have more money than taste, after all) - if only some knight in shining armor would ride in to save the day and pay off its debts. Although I don't know if going in to work there every day would ever get less painful for Seamus and me.
I "certified for benefits" with the Illinois Department of Employment Security for the first time today - theoretically you can do it online, but obnoxiously enough IDES requires Internet Explorer to do it. I know what Jerry would think of being forced to use one of Bill Gates's products, and I agree. Anyway, so I called in on the automated phone line, which I'll need to do once every two weeks in order to get my teeny little unemployment payments. I could honestly say I had looked for work, since I sent my resume off electronically in response to four different clerical job listings. I do not want to go back to a mindless clerical position, but I needed to apply somewhere, just to have applied. I also don't want to sell shady health insurance policies on commission, but thanks anyway, you strange people who keep e-mailing me saying you've seen my resume online and think I'd be just perfect for that, even though your e-mails don't actually tell me what job you're talking about, and telling me to call for an interview. What in my resume would make someone think I'm cut out for selling insurance, I can't begin to guess. (Cabinet finisher? Russian translator? Bilingual secretary?) I'm sensing a scam of some sort, although I don't know enough about it to know what the scam is.
I wonder if I'm worn out enough yet to be able to fall asleep when I go to bed. It's a problem. I was falling asleep on the couch watching The Damned United, then some repeats of Mad Men episodes, but I know if I go to bed at a decent hour, I'll lie there in bed with my mind whirring. And the whirring starts again when I wake up at 5 a.m. What I should do is try taking the sleep aid tablets at an earlier hour - if I take them this late, I'll be groggy until 10 a.m. I keep forgetting about them until it's too late in the evening. Maybe tomorrow I'll remember.
Getting on to midnight. By the time I brush my teeth and wash my face and maybe read a bit of Didion (I'll never finish that book at this rate, always picking it up right before I'm going to bed very late in the evening), maybe I'll be able to sleep.
I have my own magical thinking going on, whereby the Didion book contains some sort of wisdom that, when I finish it, will have told me how to get through this pain and be okay - all I have to do is finish the book. All sorts of things my brain is coming up with that, when I get them done, apparently will make things better. I'll get all the papers in the house sorted, and I'll get the foundation of the house fixed, and I'll go to Lookout Mountain in August (and Jerry will be there. No?), and somehow, magically... except I can't even finish the sentence coherently. What will happen then? This nightmare will go away? Jerry will be back? (No. He won't. But he will, because he must be. The alternative is unthinkable. Except I was there, I saw him die. But that isn't possible. It's NOT POSSIBLE. Repeat, repeat, repeat.)
The dangers of blogging late at night.
I not infrequently wonder what grieving would be like if I didn't have the rest of life to deal with at the same time. I have no idea whether it would actually be easier or just more intense and overwhelming, but that grass often looks far greener from here.
ReplyDeleteMaybe the getting-things-done ruse is kind of like the mirage that gets one through the desert. Until one actually reaches a real oasis (or learns how to create one oneself) or reaches the end of the desert.
I do think that just the experience of actually living life without my husband has created its own reality, to which I can now refer emotionally, instead of trying to figure out from the past how to live in the present. Kind of like a rope trick? You throw it up and then climb it. Sort of. So, it amounts for me to not answering directly the issue of his (not) coming back, it's more that the issue recedes somewhat (or is easier to compartmentalize) as the new days without him accumulate.
Thank you for this comment. It resonates and captures much of what grieving for a spouse involves. There are no choices for the past, only choices for the now and for an unknown future, all choices now without the validation of who we are by our spouse. Not easy. I wish us all well on our journeys.
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