Two Months

Two months.  Multiply that by six and I'll make it to a year.  Just one year... It may take a lifetime to make it through just this one.  I catch myself thinking that if I can make it a year with this this anxious, sad, rage rattling around in my body, I'll be free.  I'll level up in some way.  Maybe I won't have to focus on evening out my breath while I drive us home for the night.

For now, I'm just watching the world fly around me while I am safe inside a bubble of my own reality.  Am I camouflaged enough to participate in that world?  Am I acting normal?  I'm sure people see right through me, which makes me uncomfortable.  I'm not good at being vulnerable - at least not around most people.  I know there was probably a time when I was still trying to impress him, but I can't remember it.  I can't remember a time when feeling vulnerable around Matt made me squirm - he was  never a threat to my ego or my heart.  Just safe.

Daphne started to self-potty train last week.  Matt would have been so wonderful at talking with her about this.  While he would have found her hilarious as she squirmed on the toilet, he would have made her feel comfortable and relaxed.  I didn't even know she knew what it meant to really go on the potty.  Well, she does.  She asked to go.  And she did.  And Matt missed it.  He's going to miss everything.

I guess I could go on being nice to myself about it and tell myself that he can see her and that he's always with her, but I feel like it will start to hurt less if I just yell at myself.  He's gone!  He can't ever know that she is putting together three word sentences or asking to poop on the potty.  He won't know that she screamed, screamed, screamed when I took her to see Santa.  Or that she doesn't really like to put things in the trash can like she did before.  Or that she likes to check for packages at the front door.  I have to navigate her new toddler tantrums by myself and he won't get to see her in her Christmas dress.  I will decide where she will go to pre-school next year and what to do about this whole potty training thing.  He will never hear her say, "Daddy?  Love him.  Miss him" to his picture in the living room.

So instead, I make myself listen to ugly, pain-filled words inside my head like widow.  Single mom.  Late husband.  I now know what "words cutting like a knife" feels like.  I had to tell my new dentist last week.  He was a nice man, but he referenced my husband in a way I couldn't avoid.  I was traumatized for the rest of the afternoon by my having to tell him that he was gone.  Telling people is hard.  I think it's because most of the people I now tell are people who don't really know me.  So when they act sad or gentle with me, it sends me into a tailspin.  I'm not sure why kindness when I need it makes me cry, but I've been like that my whole life.  Right now anything makes me cry - especially the overeager dental assistant who acts horrified that my daughter is only 18 months old and  tells me that "crying heals the soul."  Saying ugly, horrifying words in my head won't help my situation, but maybe I'll stop being as shocked as the person sitting across from me when they come out of my mouth.

Today I am thankful for a routine.  Going to work helps me take an emotional break so I can focus on healing and peace and Daphne when I come home.  I am thankful for my coworkers who do incredibly thoughtful things for me and who act normal even when that is difficult, so that I can, too.