Six months ago today, Clint left this world at 6:33 PM. Six months. It’s not a lot of time when one is struggling with grief. I almost got up and started running from it by cooking and cleaning. Then I got my brain back, at least temporarily. This is a day for reflection. The dark rain helps. This day looks just like I feel - cold and damp and filled with tears falling from the sky. They come in flooding bursts, then wane into soft sprinkles, and so the cycle continues.
And I sit here, thinking and writing down how I feel. It’s not all bad but it is all sad. For some reason I will never understand, when I began this blog, I thought it could take the place of my written journal. I suppose I was so overcome with grief that it was all I had to say.
This morning, before doing anything else except getting my coffee and brushing my teeth, I wrote pages in what I call my notebook. God. There was so much there that, to borrow the title of one of Rosemary Daniell’s books, I became The Woman Who Spilled Words All Over Herself. I could not keep my pen off the paper, catching words and memories, most of which have nothing to do with losing my husband. I wrote on and on, and it felt good. New rule for me: Journal FIRST every day. Let blog entries will come in their own time.
My house is dirty and untidy, and I don’t give a shit. I made myself put a little Christmas tree on the dining table earlier, but I don’t want to “do” Christmas. I’m putting out a few things so my grandchildren won’t think I have turned into Mrs. Scrooge. No tree for me. I consider it a personal victory to have gotten a wreath on my front door. I bought gifts for only the youngest grandchildren. I told the adults not to buy for me. I don’t want presents. I want my husband back.
Polly didn’t get the word, so when I was spending the weekend with Addie and her family, they presented me with a fabulous yard ornament, a big blue crab. It made me happy and I positioned it in my breezeway rust garden within minutes of returning to Macon yesterday. Double standard? Yes. But I don’t care. I can have it both ways if I want. This is my life, my dreadful “holiday” season, and I can do it any way that helps me survive.