Yesterday

Yesterday was both horrible and, towards the very end, wonderful. 

I spent so much time in a fog yesterday... a fog of exhaustion, mostly, and sadness.  The only time the fog really lifted was when I was angry about DIAA being screwed out of something that is rightfully theirs and when I discovered evidence of Dad's perfidy and wrote about it.  Once I wrote about it.. a fog descended again.  This time a fog of depression, loss, anger, exhaustion... a feeling of worthlessness, even though I know that, logically, it's wrong. 

Janet I messaged me the other day with something that really, for whatever reason, woke me up.  "anything that can help from afar? you're strong, and vibrant and wonderful. small comfort, but please try to hold onto that knowledge..."

And I have.  I have gone back and read and re-read that.  I don't know why it woke me up, but I have found myself saying to myself, at random times in the day, "I am strong and vibrant.  I will survive."

It's just, sometimes... it doesn't quite feel like it.


Later, I'll paste in the post from LJ about Dad.  I need to remember.  I need to, because my own tendency to forgive and forgive and forgive and forgive will just lead me to hurt again, with hm.  


In the morning, I had asked Michael if we could have a discussion that night about timelines and plans.  He had said we could.  I texted him about 6 and asked when he'd be home, because I needed to go get SOMETHING for Norm.  He is just so itchy and miserable right now.  He finally came home about 7; I was making spaghetti for supper, and he came in and said he was going to mow.  I nearly had a breakdown.  I was angry.  "Don't do this, Michael... why are you doing this?"  He said we could talk after he mowed.  I said I wanted more than the 15 minutes before he fell asleep.  He said we could talk while we ate.  


Fine.


We started to talk about timelines; he said he's realized it may take several months to find places to live and get everything squared away.  I said that I didn't think I could live, at least not right now, in the same house under the circumstances we'd created over the past day or so.  It was too hard.  I didn't sleep.  He looked sad.  He said it was hard for him, too.  I said I didn't see it.  He said he didn't show things like I did.  I turned away to hide my tears.

He asked if I was going to try to go back to school this fall.  I said I didn't know.  He asked what I needed to do in order to be able to do so.  "Have a place to live up here," I said.  He sighed and said, "I'm sorry."


I said that I would have to sell my furniture.  "Why?" he asked.  Because there's too much of it... I won't have anywhere to put it.  "I can keep it until you're ready for it," he said.  "I'll probably have to put my tools in storage."


I told him this was just too hard, and I didn't understand WHY it was so hard.  Why, when I know he's right, that our relationship isn't going to last.  WHY did it have to be so hard?  I got angry at myself because I couldn't stop crying.  Not sobbing... not the heart-wrenched gasping for breath sobs that issued from me on Saturday evening when he said "no, Gretchen.  This is how it has to be," in response to my pleading.  Just the constant leaking from my eyes, my nose stopped up, uncontrollable.  I tried to stop it, and succeeded only in slowing it.


I told him I needed touch.  I needed to touch him, that it would be easier for me.


"What do you want to do?" he asked.


There was a long moment of silence.  I couldn't look at him.  Finally I met his eyes.  Let me sleep with you tonight, I said, and I'll go away tomorrow.


He fell apart.


"I don't want you to just go away... I want to know you're all right.  It's too hard, it's too hard, it hurts too much."  His hands were in his hair.  He had tears in his eyes.  He got up to go in the living room and get tissues.  I followed, and I patted the couch next to me.  Sit down with me, I said.  He sat.  I said, come here and cuddle me.  He burst into sobs.  "It's too HARD!"


But he came and he held on to me and rested his head on my breast while he cried quietly.  While my tears slowed and dried.  While I stroked his head and hand and back, and felt my own breathing slow.  We sat like that for a few minutes.  "I need to go mow," he said.  No you don't, I said.  I will take care of it.  "I need to go do something, SOMETHING.  Sitting here hurts too much," he said.  He was crying.


I pushed him back to sit upright.  I looked him in the eye, and I made him look at me.  


You need to stop pushing everything down, I said.  You need to let yourself feel.  


"It hurts too much!"


So does running, I pointed out.


"I can't sit here. Everything goes around and around and it HURTS."


What goes around and around?


"My mind."


I looked him in the eye again.  You have spent your whole life pushing everything down, running away from feeling, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally.  You need to stop.  


"But if I push it down it won't hurt."


Not now, I said.  But it hurts eventually.  You know it does.  


He is sobbing again.  "Let's go get ice cream.  Get some cream for Norm and get ice cream."


I had to laugh just a little bit at that.  Ice cream, your solution to everything, I said.


"Let's go.  Let's go get ice cream."


So we did.  We got cream for Norm, and Icy Hot for him.  He held my hand.  We went to Four Queens, and I rubbed the Icy Hot on his thigh where his muscles are spasming while we sat in the drive through line.  It didn't do anything, and the line wasn't moving, so I suggested we just go in.  "Do you want to wash your hands first," he asked.  Where?  There's no restroom here.  "We can go to Walgreens and look for BioFreeze and you can wash your hands," he said.


So we did.  They told us Hy-Vee is the only place in town to get Bio-Freeze, so we went back to Four Queens and got ice cream.  A chocolate marshmallow sundae for him, a butter pecan hot fudge with malt powder for me.  I gave Norm some of mine.  We went to Hy-Vee.  His hand reached for mine as we walked in.  We came home, and I rubbed cream on Norm while Michael "went to the library."  Then I told him I would rub the Bio-Freeze on his thighs, so I did.  When I was done, I went and sat in my chair and resumed folding my clothes.  "What are you doing?" he asked.  Packing, I said.  


He looked sad, so sad.  "You're tired.  Let's go to bed.  You can pack tomorrow."


I kept folding.


He got off the bed and repeated himself.  


I said that I'd go to bed in a little while.  "Come to bed," he said.  You don't want me to, I replied.  "I want you to.  I want you to come and cuddle."


He came and pulled me up from the chair.  I stood for  a long minute.  


And then I went and brushed my teeth and went to bed with him.


I woke up very early this morning.  Right about dawn.  I lay and watched him sleep, knowing this will probably be the last time I do so.  I cuddled back up to him and went back to sleep.  He was up early for an eye doctor appointment.  He came in after he was dressed and woke me.  "I'll be home for lunch," he said.  "I'll see you at lunch...?" There was an unspoken question.


I said, I'll see you at lunch.


He signed ILY as he walked out.  Out of habit, I'm sure.  But it nearly broke me again.


I'm going to go mow now, and pack.  I'm going to Kelly's tonight.  I told him I would go away. I meant it.