Time to bloom

It’s been 8 months.  It’s weird because the way our life is now is starting to feel like ‘normal’.  I don’t think about it constantly anymore.  I’m in the habit of pushing the thought from my mind a lot, because I don’t want to be sad.  I’m tired of being sad.  I’m tired of crying.  I’m tired of analyzing.  I’ve never in my life had to be sad for so long.  I still miss him.  See…tears are right there…just because I had the thought.  The mere typing of the words “I still miss him” causes the tears to well up. 

I amused myself a couple weeks ago by reading an article about the proper way to mourn in the 1920s.  Women were to wear black for a period of one year.  They were not to do anything fun.  They were not to be seen in a theatre or attend any social events.  The transition to normal clothing was expected to be gradual.  I take it people would have been aghast if on day 366 you wore a bright yellow dress to the circus.  Dating was not to resume for a period of one year, except if the widow was considered young.  Hmmm.  I wonder if I would be considered young?  I’m certainly not dying to be in a relationship again.  I know I’ve said repeatedly that I have no desire.  Actually, my exact words several times have been “he’d have to be superman.”   That, and he’d have to look like the Greek Adonis.  And he couldn’t be a whack job.  He’d have to have a witty sense of humor, ‘cause God I need to laugh again.  A lot.   Would have to have a positive attitude because I just can’t stand negativity.   Has to love kids.  Has to love me, of course, but also worship me, in a goddess sort of way.…secretly knowing that no one else would ever measure up.  Tall order?  I’m quite sure this doesn’t exist in real life.  I plan to hold out for it anyway.

The baby has been hurting my feelings all weekend by wanting only my sister.  He slept there two nights in a row.  He still managed to find the time to scribble with a purple permanent marker all over the wall in my kitchen.  He stood on a pack of paper towels so he could draw up high.  When I caught him he was sitting on the paper towels, leaning forward with a very intent look on his face.  When I saw the wall, all I could do was laugh and I had to quickly hide my face.  I didn’t even fuss him.  He blamed it on “wootie” with the marker still in his hand.  When I said ‘bedtime’ tonight, he ran to the front door and said he wanted to go to my sister’s house again.  Little booger.  I will admit having a significant break from him this weekend was nice.  When he cried by the door for her I said “What about me, what about mommy?” and he pushed me and said “No.”  I pretended to cry and he ran to me and threw his arms around me and said “I still wuv mommy.  I want mommy.  I don’t want to go to bed!”  I haven’t a clue how I would have survived the last 8 months without these boys.  These boys that I love so damn much.  Without a baby in my bed every night.  Little dimples on the backs of his hands.  Patting his little diaper.  Hearing his little baby voice, smelling his sweet baby neck.  Kissing his sweet baby toes.  How could Dave leave this?  How could he not want to be right here?  There are times when I feel he did this to punish me.  But then I think of them.  Surely he didn’t want to punish them.  Surely he was just out of his mind.  I don’t even care anymore.  I’m so damned sick of thinking about it.  I just want it all to go away.

For the past few months I’ve been keeping my eye on this beautiful orchid that Dave gave me last year.  Usually I kill orchids.  And then I throw them away.  But a couple months ago, I noticed this one was not  near death, in fact it was going to bloom again.  I’ve been convinced that the bloom would open on a significant day.  The first of several flowers on the stalk opened this weekend.  I’m taking it as a sign that my life will be blooming again too.  New beginnings.  Being reinvented.  It is spring after all.  The sun is out.  Everything is fresh and new and dewy.  I wish I was fresh and new and dewy…like I was when I was 25 years old.  But I think I can be fresh and new and dewy again, only now much smarter, much wiser.  Having extracted all I can from this hellish nightmare I’ve been living.  But willing to bloom again.  Funny when I took the picture just now I noticed there is a tiny angel on the pot.