Lots of room to make an @$$ out of u and me.

I don’t swear by the way but that is how the expression goes, right?

I think it was the day after he died, after we went to the funeral home, that we also took a trip to the cemetery. This decision alone didn’t come easy. At the hospital we were forced to quickly make the call in regard to which funeral home we wanted to chauffer my husband around and where we wanted him driven to. Well, the funeral home choice was easy, a family friend owned one- he went there. His mom wanted a local cemetery too. One with a religious affiliation that their family did not practice. I couldn’t agree, for that reason and distance.

My husband and I had actually talked about this briefly on one of our many trips to the city where I grew up. This city is right next to a lake and the cemetery beside it was where my grandparents were buried. We talked about being buried there, assuming it would be another 60-70 years until we needed the plots. Well, I knew immediately that this was not an option. My husband was a police officer (another story for another day) and we lived in his department’s jurisdiction. I knew of a cemetery about 5 minutes from my house and thought it was nice looking. I suggested this and his family agreed. To this day, I am glad that I made that choice. There have been times when I have talked with police about the incidents that happen there around Halloween time.  Also, I know the PD has a good relationship with the secretary in the office there. It makes me feel that my husband is more protected. It just so happens to be that our plots are in the same square? block? as one of my husband’s collegues from a few years prior.  He never really knew her but we knew of the circumstances that caused her death and knew that her plot would be watched over too. At least I hope they still remember…

When talking with the lady about where he would be buried within our newly purchased plots, I could tell she was assuming that it was my MIL’s husband that had passed. I am the one who caught the error and pointed out that it was indeed my husband that we were ‘planting’. “Oh, it’s your husband?” Yes, I am the very, very lucky one, lady.

Family jurisdiction, yes, I am using that word again because I like it today, has been strange around the grave. I paid for and tried to receive input from his family, on the marker. I always refer to it as “the stone” but I don’t want to confuse my dear readers. The input I got was a suggestion for an all black one but I had already decided that part. I ordered the biggest one I could afford and looked online for ideas. I didn’t want a plain one, I wanted it to be special and different. I did find one online that I modeled ours after. Uh-huh, OURS. Apparently my choice of buying a plot for myself was daring enough but then to use the same marker for me to?! WOW they said, even though I didn’t hear it, I saw it in their eyes. Everyone assumed I would marry again and oh the problems that would cause, right? Nope. A whole bunch of years, one husband and one child later, I am still counting on that piece of ground as the home of my special hole.  My picture is even lasered on the thing so you really can’t miss!

The stone has all sorts of whimsical-like features including colored paint. I loved it brand new. I still love it now but it desperately needs some touch up as it faces the sun all day. The trouble is I am scared to death of wrecking it in the process of painting it. I swear I will do it each summer and each summer ends with the stone looking worse and worse. Speaking of which, after I sold our home, I moved an hour from the cemetery. This has really been a hard thing- again with the jurisdiction. Initially, I took over all the planting and care of the weeds and such. My husband’s dad would use a special brush to get the stuck mowings off of it and fertilize the grass and plants. When I lived close, I would spend so many hours each evening there after dusk just watering and watering so that his grass would grow in nice and thick. I think it was therapeutic. I watered anyone’s plot I could reach with my short hose. I miss those days. I wish I could still do that every night before bed.   Now that I am farther away, I assumed his family would pick up the slack so to speak. As far as I know, his mom doesn’t go there except at special times of the year and his dad used to go there once a week before he retired. Upon my most recent visit, I don’t think this is the case anymore. It is sad and I must make a point to get up there and take care of it. That being said…

I have a relationship with that stone and our mini flower garden there. I feel like taking care of all of that reflects on my feelings for my husband. I was SO proud the day it was delivered (a multi-week wait as the stone hailed from India) and raced like a mad woman to get there and see it. I called the family to let them know but I don’t think anyone cared. I guess they didn’t have that same bond to the stone that I did. Maybe they didn’t mind the non-markerness… Did they care at all? Didn’t really help my aloneness but I didn’t know any better at that time. I guess I still don’t now but am making other assumptions?! The family doesn’t always express themselves verbally so it can definitely leave room for guessing.

Sometimes we’ll all show up at the same time, exchange hugs and wonder where all the flowers we have brought will go? I didn’t understand when my FIL said he had some work to do there last fall. I wondered if my authority in the jurisdiction was waning. I still don’t know. I guess it is what it is. That would be all fine and dandy if I could just figure out what it means. I guess that is all for now.

It is the little things

Today marks the 12th anniversary of my first date with my buddy boy. I cannot believe it has been that long. I have celebrated more of these alone than with him and that is even worse. I *think* we watched Happy Gilmore at the theater. I know we went to Big Boy afterward. I can place us as if it just happened. UGH.

Yesterday, I went to the cemetery for the first time since October. I felt miserable that it had been that long. I guess having a baby and ‘moving on’ prevents the daily, multiple hour visits. I intend to get back there and work on the flowerbed soon. It looked awful. I wish I lived closer. My friend assured me that he would rather have me happy than pining away over dirt and whatever is left of him… my words not hers. I would have to agree but it doesn’t make the guilt any less.

The Aftermath

Anger? Or is it fear? Sadness? My emotions are all mixed up.

A few days ago I talked with someone on the phone that I didn’t expect to talk to. I only knew this person because of my husband’s death and the aftermath. I used to get all shaky when someone asked to me recount something from the hours before his death. I think I got over that but found I can still get shaky even after all these years when I am forced to think about that aftermath stuff.  The conversation really bothered me but he was never even brought up once. So, that is where it began. He has been in my thoughts for days. Heavily and not always at the right times. It really is an awkward thing when you are being intimate with someone and thinking of an experience with someone else. Ever happen to you?

Today I came across a name. I am SURE I know this name or this person from some place. Hours later I got to thinking that quite possibly it was the name of a nurse that cared for my husband and screwed us over in that aftermath stuff. I spent 20 minutes or so digging through his chart for the last name. I knew the first name was the same. Turns out it wasn’t her and I am relieved in so many ways that you don’t even know. Of course, looking through the chart brings up stuff and churns it all around. The strip showing his heart problems at the end or all of the times the word ‘expired’ was on there. How about the highlighted areas my mom came up with about questionable things in that chart. It is all quite lovely. Apparently they inserted a central line one minute before he died. Never knew that before. How long would they have worked on him? His dad made them stop when they did and knowing that they were just about to try something else makes me wonder and fall in the deep dark hole full of would of/could of/maybe/might have and ifs.  

So sad.

But, it is hard to be sad and think of these things when life is continuing anyway. At the time I was tearing that chart apart, I was suppose to be helping feed my child. What is the matter with me?! It is all so jumbled up. The thoughts are swirling. Sometimes I worry about what I type here and who might come across it but then again, it has been weeks since I started this blog and not one person has read it besides myself.