Tucking in Clint

Late afternoons can be hard, especially Friday afternoons, since that was the day Kristy and I met Clint at the club for a drink after his bridge game. Sometimes we had appetizers, too. I'm learning my way around late afternoon blues, but as hard as I worked around here today, I had a sagging spell at 5:00. I usually take the dogs for a ride or plan errands for that time of the day but I let it slip up on me. I cleaned out one of my closets and scanned several photos onto my computer, and WHAM! it was 5. I didn't break down until later.

Bedtime is also hard. For years, after he fell asleep with his book or his puzzle or some TV program he was watching, I went to Clint's side of the bed, took off his glasses, put his things away and kissed him goodnight. That all stopped two years ago when he got his wheelchair. In order for him to get in and out of bed, it had to be parked between the lamp and me. I couldn't reach it, so it stayed on until Clint woke in the night and switched it off himself. I did take off his glasses, and put his things away, and I always kissed him goodnight even though it meant I had to climb back in on my side and squirm my way over to him. Because of that blasted lamp, I learned to sleep in a sleeping mask. Now that he's gone and I can turn off every light I want to, I leave on a little lamp and wear my mask every night. My heart hurts tonight, more than most nights. The tears started a couple of hours ago, and they won't leave me alone.

Cleaning out my things served to keep a little light on in the back of my brain that reminded me I would have to clean out Clint's closet some day before too long. I want to keep so many of his things, but there are men out there that don't have anything warm to wear now that it's cool. Some things I'll never be able to give away, and the same is true of the children, but the time has come to sort out the things we can't live without and donate everything else to charity. He would like that. Even though he was a pack rat in life, he would want his things to be of use to those in need.

That little reminder in the back of my head was making me sick at heart, and now that it's out, my tears are drying. All this grief and grieving makes no sense, has not direction, is full of unpleasant surprises, and it has a life of its own. It will not be controlled or even guided. It is what it is. And I hate it.