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On the surface, it was a perfectly decent day.
On the inside, it was a horrible, tortured day.
As Ron's birthday approaches I feel myself deteriorating internally. I so badly wanted him to make it to his birthday. He kept saying what a waste, I am going to die at 47 years old and I wanted to prove him wrong. I told him to keep looking toward his 50th birthday. He would tell me that statistically speaking there was no way he was going to make it that long. He was so sure that he would not make it to 48. I told him statistically speaking he should never have gotten pancreatic cancer in the first place so I didn't buy that argument. So much for his assurances that statistically speaking my fear of sharks makes no sense. In April, after things got bad, I asked the universe to let him live until our anniversary and he did. We had a good, quiet night together. The girls had sleepovers somewhere and we spent time talking, I ate something for dinner (Ron probably didn't eat anything--I can't remember what we/I ate). We were supposed to watch a movie together and I got so caught up in trying to pick out the perfect film that Ron fell asleep while I was fretting over this choice or that one. I watched him for a while as he slept and then I cried myself to sleep because I knew 11 years of marriage would be our grand total. The next morning we did get to go out to breakfast and Ron nibbled a little. I really wanted to take him to Brookside Gardens but after breakfast, and a brief stroll at the Farmer's Market, Ron was tired and we went home. I had to remember that where we spent time together didn't matter. I had just wanted to take him someplace beautiful.
Within the fog in which I have been living and functioning, I have had the awareness that I have been mostly numb. Something seems to have cracked, there is a fissure that is widening. I am starting to feel the pain and if I let myself really think about it all I can barely breathe. I competely lost my shit tonight while driving with the girls to the Kennedy Center to watch close friends perform. We had to head to DC during rush hour. I forgot to fill the tank with gas and our usual route downtown was closed to southbound traffic. I made a dumbass wrong turn at the very last minute, I mean we were right next to the Kennedy Center and next minute there we were on the bridge to Virginia, freaking Virginia. I started screaming at myself and my stupidity in the car and in my rage, I yelled the one thing (besides the curses) that my overly perceptive daughters would have to remember, "I am so tired of smiling and pretending that everything is okay". That is what they asked me about later, that is what they remembered most when I apologized for losing my temper over something silly like directions. When we got back home they were hungry and we had breakfast for dinner. I realized then that I had forgotten to buy milk and that I would have none for them or my coffee in the morning. I do not want to be the only one filling the gas tank, figuring out directions, doing 100% of the driving, remembering to get milk. I do not want to be a single parent and say stupid shit to my kids and have my nine year old comfort me when I cannot stop the tears. She should NOT have to do that for me. That is NOT her job. I try to be honest with them and I know it is okay to express my sadness in front of them but WTF? Sophie cried tonight and said that she just wants to see Daddy one more time and for him to hug her or tell him he loves her. What should I say to that? Me too, Sweetie, me too.