365 and Counting

A year ago this evening my kids and I were setting up to play Rock Band 4 when Margaret shouted for us to join her in the bedroom. We dropped our plastic instruments and ran to Karen's bedside. Within a minute Karen was gone, both kids were sobbing, Margaret was bawling, and I had thrown myself across Karen's still chest, hugging her close and crying.

I expect today will be less dramatic. But so far it has not been especially easier. I spent the better part of this morning alternating between staring at my computer screen and weeping. It's been a year. It still hurts but not as sharply. These days the pain is dull and aches.

But this week has been a challenge. Today loomed large all week and I essentially retreated to my big, empty house, hunkering down and feverishly trying to get work done in anticipation of being not especially motivated today. A considerate reprieve from work is the highlight of my day so far.

Late at night last October 21, I wondered a few things. What would I do without Karen? How could I make it a year when making it hour to hour was next to impossible? Where would I be in a year? Who would I be?

I can't answer all of it but I can answer some of it. I'm much more easily overwhelmed these days. I don't know if it's fallout from juggling about one million things over the years of Karen's illness but I really try to keep my life as minimal and undemanding as possible now. Thankfully, the pain of losing her is no longer constant but the missing of her, the yawning void in my life where she used to be, that challenges me every single day. I talk to her daily, addressing the empty seat in the car, the empty stool by the kitchen island, her end of the couch, the aching hole in my heart. It helps.

My house is a minefield of memories and virtually every day I am whipsawed one way and then the other. Here's the spot where the kids decorated Christmas cookies with their mother every year and over here is the spot where Karen fell that time near the end and screamed in agony and scared the living fuck out of all of us. The peaks and valleys are so extreme I feel like I have the bends and altitude sickness at the same time, lots of the time.

The last year has been one of dizzying change. Miranda has moved into an apartment with friends and is preparing to transfer to a new college and will likely be moving away late next summer. Dash has moved out as well. Unfortunately, he left under a cloud of tremendous anger and we haven't really heard much from him since. This change in particular hurts. It's hard for Miranda and I not to feel as if our family has been cruelly halved. We reach out in the hope that someday, hopefully soon, we'll start rebuilding bridges from both sides.

Early next year I'll be selling the house and moving into an apartment locally. I intend to spend the following year answering one question and that question is "What the fuck?" The last year has had a lot less downtime than I'd anticipated and I want a leisurely year to figure out where I'm living, where I'm going, what I'm doing. You know....what the fuck? Getting the house ready is a pain in the ass but I'm actually looking forward to the move and finding out just what I want out of the next few decades.

I know I've said it before but this is truly the final post here. I realize now that there is no real end to this chapter in our lives. It will go on forever I think, ebbing slowly but never vanishing. I deal with it by imagining how much pleasure Karen would take were she around to share everyday life with me. I imagine how proud she'd be of her kids. I sit in my chair in the living room and watch the memory of her get up from the couch and go into the kitchen for a snack. I hear her voice from the other room.

And when my throat tightens and my heart sinks I remind myself that the pain of missing her reflects how deeply she loved me and I her. I try to focus on that, on the love we had and the love I still have in my life, with my kids, with my tremendous friends.

That's what got me through the worst of everything over the last four years. I am banking on it getting me through the rest of everything (as in the rest of life itself) as well. It makes the days good and I want as many good days as I can get going forward.

I love you, Karen. We all miss you. Thinking of you is far more happy than sad no matter the tears. Thank you for everything.

Be well, my friends.

Yippee Ki-Yay, motherfuckers.