I think it must be typical--and I just hate being typical--but after a person loses someone there seems to be a period of drifting. Or, like the aforementioned Don Quixote's horse, "running off in all directions". I find myself in that Sargasso Sea of non-movement, almost (but not quite) floundering in a flood of inertia.
What to do? Veg and watch TV? Umm, no. The four lbs I've gained since Rory's demise indicates that I am doing too much watching and not enough doing.
Yesterday I took delivery of yet another BMW motorcycle, a 1976 R75/6, a big ol' Airhead to restore and either sell or ride forever. Now I just need to find the energy to sort the carbs, bleed the front brake, and make it pretty. Sigh. That will have to wait until the new front porch graces the little old house I own, since it is only 1/3 finished, and I need the roof over it---right now the remnants of the snow of the 25th makes it rather slick to haul firewood!
And my brother comes over and drags me off on bike rides on Millie, my other Beemer, or Bella, my vintage Triumph. And my son Bob insists that I help him as he really does all the work in building that porch. The neighbors bring me wood and stack it, and I help with that, and the days pass quickly. The evenings, however, are another story.
After the last wine cooler is consumed, after the work is done, after whoever has been here has left, bound for home and their own families, then it gets quiet, and I gravitate to the computer or the tv set. I used to have dinner to fix, and a house to keep up, and wash to be done, but there is so much less to do without a man to pick up after. Sometimes I do go ahead and make a lasagna or something, and end up putting most of it in the freezer---in fact, both of my freezers are stuffed full! It's hard to cook for one.
I tell myself that it has only been six weeks, and I will get used to this new, silent reality, but it is difficult, especially because I talk to Rory all the time, and every now and then I sort of semi-forget, and then I expect him to poke his head around a corner or something. The realization that it will never again happen is temporarily overwhelming, and I cry for awhile and then one of the dogs comes over and licks my hand or something, and I smile through my tears and realize that life does indeed go on.
So today I am getting an eye exam for new glasses, the dreaded step into maturity known as bi-focals! (They go both ways....). It will be nice to see again. Also, since my goggles are old Brit goggles that reek of class but have clear lenses, I need tinted glasses for Summer riding. Tomorrow I have an appointment with my banker to talk about refinancing the house, so the new roof won't come out of my pocket. Fill the days, fill the days......
On the 25th I hosted a memorial open house for Rory. It was fantastic, with flowers and cards from PFLAG, Pride Foundation, and lots of people from the Canadian border to Olympia showed up. Rory was very active in the T community, and we heard from people as far away from Western Washington as Vermont! That goal of having the open house carried me through the six weeks after his death. So---now what?
I realized this morning that I was still holding my breath, waiting for things to return to normal, but this is my new "normal", and I have to make the most of it. So I'm taking the first steps in my latest "transition", and recognizing the signs: boredom, lethargy, lack of direction. Thus the various projects and appointments. Plus, of course, I facilitate a weekly support group in Bellingham, which helps a lot!
Maybe I should let my son give me a tattoo.....he's a professional tat artist, but----Mmmm, no. Got two, wish I didn't.
The last time I started writing with no purpose other than a purge, it took 126 pages. I won't do that to anyone here, I promise. In fact, I'm going to stop now, and go stuff a load of wash into the dryer.
One step at a time, just like any other transition!