those mornings that begin with the realization that it's too dark outside to push myself out of bed, even though the sheets have already gone cold from the absence of my partner.
where I eat cold pizza for breakfast, and not really even the pizza, just the crusts.
where I sit on the floor of the tub in the shower and cry for both no apparent, and a million and one reasons.
where the only music that satisfies is that which doesn't make me necessarily sad, but definitely contemplatively thoughtful.
where the rain feels more like a personal insult than it should this time of year.
where I feel flaky for not returning emails, phone calls, or being able to keep appointments in a timely matter because doing so feels like an impossibility.
we went to our friend's memorial yesterday morning. we closed the shop up early, piled the troops up in the van, passed out pictures and sunflowers, and headed south towards a park. immediately upon our arrival, it became apparent that our friend was loved by many. it was both tragic and satisfying to know just how much, and how many people will miss her. during the service I was taken with a particular tree. its golden leaves leaving an impression on my view of the situation amongst such tangible loss and sadness.
we cried. we laughed. we held each other.
and I left feeling good, blessed, and whole.
but then we came home from the service to a letter from our lawyer with not exactly good news regarding the future of our business. and this brought up a new set of emotions, most of which have been harbored and buried in a soggy pile of rags in my heart for the last seven months.
the timing could not have been worse.
to add fuel to the fire, the two of us had to return to the cafe and finish the closing duties that couldn't be finished prior to the memorial. it felt particularly cruel to have to return to "business as usual." we spent the majority of the next two hours cleaning in silence, probably thinking about both the same, and different things. we flipped the sandwich station, made specials and restocked, just as we have done a million times before. but something was different this time. without being prompted, I could tell my husband's heart was aching.
I could tell because I could hear it. because mine was aching too.
then we met friends for pizza at "our place," trying to pretend everything was/is alright, and I drank too much wine trying to forget...everything. and I did. if only for a minute. or long enough to forget to order a chocolate chip cookie for the road home. something that bummed me out probably more than it should have.
and so when I woke this morning, it was with the knowledge that I was already on the wrong-side of bed. but I wasn't, my side just felt wrong. not a good sign or way to begin the day.
I am trying to conjure up some of those feelings I had yesterday after the service. like what it felt like to grasp onto my beloved friends and unravel the knot of grief in my stomach. like listening to the sounds of the birds chirping in the park. like the feeling of the sun coming out and parting the clouds long enough to warm my tights. like figuring out what that tree was saying to me, and how it made me feel hopeful.
I am hoping for another one of those perfect moments to come and grace me today so it can erase this morning from memory.
I am hoping to move forward.
Shortly after writing this post, Evan returned home from work and suggested we ditch our funk by going out to lunch. We both agreed it seemed better to celebrate all of the good things in our life rather than sitting around focusing on the bad. I should have known Evan would be the first perfect moment of my day. Why? Well, because he is the old fashioned kind of romantic who knows that sometimes all your wife needs,
is something a little sparkling,
someone to empathize with her, and someone to go halvesies on with lunch.
(beer-battered halibut, housemade bratwurst and Beecher's Flagship Cheddar Sandwich, albi potato chips)
Thank you, Husband and Wildwood Restaraunt for the pleasure.
Posted by Ali and Evan at 8:36 AM