It’s been a long time since I wrote on this blog that used to be my lifeline. For a long time it was the only tie I had between sane and insane. It’s been so long that it seems the WordPress app has updated since I last used it, and I’m not entirely sure that I’m going to be successful publishing this post. We’ll see.
Anyway, there is so much I could write about when I consider all that has happened over the last few months. I could talk about how I decided to move, and so I listed and sold the home I shared with Ben. All by myself. And I cried about it, all by myself. I chose the realtor, the asking price and the sell date. I prepped the house for showings. I kept it clean. I ran around mowing lawns and weeding gardens and wiping down counters before people came in to see it. I threw dogs in the back of my car and clutter into the dishwasher. I panicked all by myself when the real estate market stalled as soon as I listed my house. I countered an offer and signed the papers. I bought myself a new home that is currently under construction. I made living arrangements for the 2 1/2 month interval where I’m homeless, and I said goodbye to years of memories in the house where Ben lived and where he drew his last breath. By myself.
I could also tell you that I went on a European vacation with my daughters and some friends, and that I planned a good part of it by myself while dealng with the stress of trying to sell my house. I could talk about the mistakes I made while I was booking it (wasted some money), the wonderful times I had with my girls and friends, how scary it was when my daughter needed a doctor overseas, and how I developed stomach problems that have not yet gone away. (If you know me, you know where my head goes when I have any pain or discomfort for any period of time. I have a dark mind, and even though I try to make light of it, it is neither fun nor easy to deal with.)
Instead of any of that, I’ll try posting some pictures of the good times, and I’ll add one interesting and related fact about widow-hood. Fact: I need photos because my brain still does not work properly. Without them I would not be able to remember my European visit, and in fact I do have some complete memory blanks regarding towns we visited. (These pics are out of order and rather random, but I’m writing this on my IPhone and it’s hard to see which pics I’m choosing).
Nice, right? That’s my summer so far. I got back just in time to have a few days to pack, clean and move. Worked my ass off. It was a lot of work and I honestly have no idea how I got it all done. I could write about how I left wine, and a plant, and some candy for the new home owners. How I wrote them a note about how much I love my home and I hope they have a happy life there. I could tell you about how my efforts were apparently not satisfactory for the new home owners (it seems they would have liked me to take a class in how to fill in nail holes from hanging pictures and then do so) but I can’t be bothered to dwell on that nonsense. Some people are just unkind, and even though my feelings were actually quite hurt, I’m over it.
I could tell you about how I am writing this from the ferry while I travel to Vancouver Island for a couple of days to see my sister and her family. To enjoy a country music festival and relax in the sun.
But the truth is, all I want to write about is how much I miss Ben. Because we lived for years in a place where ferries were constantly a part of our lives, and I am not supposed to be on a ferry without him.
This is our thing.
Ben would park the car, I’d get in line at the cafeteria while he got a seat. Then we’d scout the gift shop, buy something to read and spend the rest of the trip people watching or chasing kids.
When I was waiting in the lineup to drive on, the line started moving but the guy in front of me didn’t. I honked once and then looked to the right where I saw this young man making a wild dash for his car. He was carrying a coffee in one hand, a baby in the other, and behind him was a little boy running as fast as he could while crying hysterically.
I started laughing, and then I started crying. Because that is exactly what Ben would have done. He would have left the car and taken too long in the coffee shop. And then the kids would have cried while he ran ahead, and I would have lost my shit because the kids were scared. And then we would have laughed.
I so want to tell Ben about the younger version of him I saw running today. But I can’t.
When I got up to the cafeteria I looked at the menu and was reminded that chicken and waffles is now a “thing.” Gross. That was not a “thing” when Ben was alive, and I really want to tell him about it. I also want to tell him about my stomach trouble and how I get so anxious about what possible dark and scary diagnosis’ (diagnoses??) could come. I want him to reassure me. But I can’t tell him and he can’t reassure me.
I haven’t cried in awhile, but today I sit on this stupid ferry with a tear in my eye because no one on here knows me. No one cares if I’m scared, or that my stomach hurts, or that some dad left his kid trailing behind while he ran for his car.
Just to be clear … I’m having a good summer. A great summer. More days are good than bad. There are more smiles than tears, and I know that my stomach problems are unlikely to be anything life threatening. But just at this moment, on this ferry where Ben should be, I feel like feeling sorry for myself.
I promise I will enjoy the sun and the concert and my sister and her fam. And I will try not to think too much about my stomach issues.
I miss Ben.
PS. If this post is riddled with typos it is entirely the fault of my iPhone. Just sayin’