Tanq and Tonic ramblings - maybe a temporary post in QUOTIDIEN

When my husband passed away almost 2 years ago – as badly as I wanted to blame him for his death, and as much as I wanted to hate him for having ‘left us’, the rational me eventually realized it wasn’t his choice. He had a heart attack. He woke up one morning, dressed for work, and prepared to leave. I told him I loved him, rubbed his lower back because he said it hurt, then sent him on his way with a kiss and profession of love. It was reciprocal. He showed up on the job site for the safety inspection, clutched his chest, and fell to the ground, never to regain consciousness. I never expected the call. THAT call. I never thought, for an instant, that just 2 hours before, I’d touched him for the last time. Kissed him goodbye for the last time. I never thought that our ‘I love you’s would be our last shared words or shared sentiment. We didn’t wake up that morning, knowing that in less than 5 hours, I would be talking to someone about which organs I wanted to donate, and were we going to cremate. I mean - that’s about as bad as it gets. If I survived that - I can survive anything.

It’s part of why I wondered why it hurt so badly when Bill moved to Virginia to tend to his future financial security. What could be more logical than that?! After all - I’d crossed paths with the Grim Reaper - so this shouldn’t be a challenge. I’d lived the worst case scenario - so how could this hurt SO badly?! As my mother so callously pointed out 2 days later, “it’s not like he died, right

The tears have finally stopped in both cases, though the pain of either loss isn’t so far behind me that the memories don’t still carry their sting. For those who believe that I’m being childish, screw you. I reserve the right to experience my hurt. It’s not right to tell someone you want to keep their housecoat and slippers ‘for when you come visit’ - as if it was something that was desired, then allow other things to come along, and derail that possibility. Not if he truly loved me. Not if he turned his nose at the offered suggestion that what we knew was nothing more than ‘limerence’. Not if he made his own professions of commitment. If he was totally and comfortably immersed in my life, reciprocation should be natural....but that doesn’t appear to be true.

I’m going to bed now because this isn’t helping. But I thought I’d purge this lump of feelings like an owl barfs up the undigestible and see if I can’t wake up with a better perspective over what Tanqueray and Tonic will provide.

I’m glad I’m learning how to live ‘alone’. As nice as it would be to share my life, and a love that defies understanding, it would take an act of God to raise that much trust in me again to let it happen.

Last updated March 19, 2016