I am so tired today. I can barely function because I just want to close my eyes. But sitting still, even sleeping, gives my brain too much freedom to contemplate this whole awful situation. So, I thought that my weariness was a result of lack of sleep. As I went through our morning routine, I really thought that I was okay emotionally. I was just tired.
I managed to get the girls to daycare early. Then I went to Jake's parents' house. Down in their basement is where he lived during last year's legal nightmare and there is a make-shift office where he managed his personal business. I thought I should check his office to see if anything important was left hanging. The first room I came to was the bedroom. He hadn't been sleeping there for months because work release requires that he sleep in jail, but the room still held evidence of him: some dirty shirts on the bed, some mail, chapstick, pocket knife, and the like. I thought I was doing fine, but walking into that room was like taking the thin veil of strength away from my character. I crumpled onto the floor. I scooped up his dirty shirts and hugged them. I was like a hysterical grieving widow, moaning and sobbing.
I dragged myself to the office after a few minutes. Like magic, the tears went away and I felt level again. I picked up the few pieces of paper that looked really necessary. I seemed to have a hard time finding a way to hold the papers and looked down to realize that I was still hugging the shirts from his room. I went back to the room with the excuse that I should look at the mail in there. Again, I fell apart. This time, I told the room and the empty bed that I wanted him back.
I went back upstairs and cried with his dad for a minute. But Big Rev kept talking about how he's lost his help around the farm and how he'll have to sell the farm now because there is no one to inherit it. I think it is just his cover story for his own grief, but the selfish nature of it (whether real or not) was too disgusting to me. I left.
In the car I started sobbing again. Finally being alone, I let loose. "I want him back! DAMN IT, I WANT MY HUSBAND BACK! I WANT MY HAPPINESS BACK! WHY, DAMN IT! Why? Why, God? Why . . . "
My friend called just as I was running out of steam. She has a knack for good timing. She calmed me down, comforted me, gave me strength. Then Kay called. The first thing she asked, as if it was the most important thing in the world, was if I had taken the dirty shirts on the bed. I said yes. She said that she had pulled them out of the laundry basket and left them, "Because sometimes," her voice cracked, "sometimes when people are grieving . . . " We both started crying. I knew before she said it that she kept them to preserve his scent. And I admitted to her that I took them for that same reason. Through choking sobs and sniffles, she made me promise not to wash them. I have never before known her to be so sentimental.
Then she asked me for permission to wash his dirty socks and we both laughed.
Today is the anniversary of the first time that Jake was arrested. Big Rev and Kay and I didn't need to acknowledge that to each other. We all feel the grief more strongly today for good reason. I was going to use this post to tell you about what happened that day, one year ago, but it will have to wait a day or two. I'm still just so tired and I don't think I can face it right now.
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