Tomorrow marks the 6-month mark for me. Exactly 26 weeks since Wednesday, February 15 - the worst day of my life. And I feel like I have taken a step back in my healing process lately. It certainly doesn't help that my dog needs extensive (and expensive) treatment for what appears to be neurological degeneration. It doesn't help that the reality is setting in that I am 32 years old and living with my parents. It doesn't help that it's seemingly impossible to get anything done with a toddler tearing around, getting into everything.
Since the dog started having problems, I have felt just depleted. Going to Vegas was a nice break, but it's not like I came back feeling particularly refreshed and ready to tackle all the stuff I need to do. I experience spurts of motivation, but I find it difficult to really sink my teeth into a project if I'm not operating in a clean space. The clutter around me reflects the clutter in my head and heart. So I try to get one space clean - my room, or the kitchen, and then there are inevitable interruptions (my little guy, who is so much more fun than organizing closets or cleaning out the toaster, or sleep, since usually the time when I can get stuff done is when he's down for the night...) And even if I finish cleaning the space, by the time I have another time and motivation block, it's a mess all over again. The clutter in my head never gets touched.
I haven't taken care of some business things I need to take care of related to the estate and this new chapter of being responsible for all kinds of things I never had to think about. I haven't organized the kitchen at all. I haven't updated Max's baby book in months. I haven't touched the projects I promised myself I would do before my grad school program starts. And then I managed to delete ALL my pictures on iPhoto on my laptop because I never actually learned how to use it. And I don't care enough to try and fix it.
Just feeling really blah. And incredibly sad. I'm back to not being able to talk, or even think, about JP without crying. Looking at pictures of him mostly just makes me frustrated. I beat myself up asking whether he had been complaining about his chest hurting back in the winter. I was so wrapped up in the baby that if he mentioned any ailments, my response was just "then go see your doctor." If he said anything, I was probably only half listening because seriously, I felt like he was always complaining about not feeling well and it was usually nothing more than a cold (which, with his crap immune system, would have him in bed for days). I remember being frustrated that his crappy immune system and the fact that every time he worked out he had to ice his knee for what seemed like hours. And he was definitely going to see someone about his knee. I think he saw someone for his shoulder too, so if his chest had been bothering him, he would have made an appointment, right? But I can't help thinking about the fact that I found his cardiologist's business card, separate from the rest of the cards he had (most from work), and it ended up in my diaper bag (I don't remember finding it, or putting it there). At first I kept thinking it was some sort of sign, some sort of admonition. But the coroner's office told me that there was nothing that could have been done, no predicting or preventing.
I try to write letters to JP every night, but lately I have been too tired - though not sure if the fatigue is physical or mental. There are so many things I want to tell him, and it just makes me sad to know that he's not reading the letters I write. I want to ask if he thinks Tostito's changed the way they make their restaurant style chips or if I just like them more than I thought I did. I want to tell him I went to Pinkberry and it made me think of Curb Your Enthusiasm. I want to talk to him about Crossfit. Little things. As well as big things - everything Max is doing and saying, my fears about Maddy - I want his opinion on whether I'm doing the right thing with all this therapy and taking her to the neurologist...should I let them do additional testing on her?
6 months is a terrible milestone. I hate it. I just want to check out for a while and resurface when the pain is less raw, when things seem less hopeless, when I'm not still hoping he'll come back...when my head and heart are reconciled about the fact that he is gone for good.
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