Who was the asshole who said it gets easier with the passage of time? It sure isn't getting any easier for me. In fact, the more that time elapses, the sadder I get.
I lived by myself for the first ten years of my adult life, so it's not like I've never done it before, but this is so much different. After having Dennis with me every day for over 30 years, I'm having a great deal of difficulty adjusting to having no one around the house. I'm bombarded by memories everywhere I look. I can't get away from them—not that I want to; I'm just so fucking depressed when I'm alone now. Hell, I'm depressed when I'm surrounded by friends and/or co-workers.
After I had his Celebration of Life Party in January, my friend Donna phoned me. "I know it's down the road aways," she said, "but I don't want you to be by yourself on your birthday. Nancy and I usually visit the house in Palm Springs once a month. How'd you like to come down for a long weekend at the end of April? The last weekend of April turns into May 1 on that Sunday. If you take Thursday and Friday off, we'll have a four-day weekend that ends on your birthday. What do you think?"
"Well, you're right about it being down the road aways, but I can probably get the time off. They've been bending over backwards at the office trying to do what they can for me. Sure, why not? Plus, I've never been there before, so what the heck. I just thought of something else—I can look up my old friend Des, who lives in Cathedral City."
"Great," she replied. "I'll ask Tom to go too. It'll be just the three of us. If we're lucky, we can all be on the same flights coming and going. I usually rent a car when I'm down there, so we can all split that and whoever wants to use it can. I'm glad you're going to do it."
Now that sounds pretty good, doesn't it? But now that we're only a couple of days away from going, I'm a bit apprehensive because of my current state of mind. I'm not going to cancel—don't get me wrong. And I certainly appreciate what they're trying to do—take my mind off things. But now I'm afraid of bringing them into a depressed state, because this will be my first trip of any kind since Dennis died, and I don't know how I'm going to react by not having him with me. We always traveled together—just one more item into the equation of my grief process.
I'm also apprehensive of going back to visit his family this summer. I've never visited on my own before and I know it's going to be highly emotional. Don't get me wrong—I want to see them—they are wonderful and I love them all dearly. But the trip is going to be emotionally draining. And that just adds to the anxiety that this sense of depression is never going to end. It seems to be permeating into everything lately.
I didn't think it was possible to miss him more, but that's the situation I find myself in and I cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel. Hell, I can't even find the fucking tunnel, let alone the end of it. And you thought I was going to write fond memories about the early years again, didn't you? I guess I've still got "stuff" to get out; just not sure what it is that's coming out.
Rick, I am sorry you feel this way. There is no right or wrong here, as far as your feelings are concerned. There are no expectations in Palm Springs. We can all do as much and as little as we want. This is a no-specific-agenda trip. Donna is proud of her new house and wants us to see it. I think it will be a good thing. I believe it will be much tougher to see Dennis' family in Detroit in July. I'm being honest about that - I respect you too much to sugar coat that. But you are a human and we all have different emotional thresholds. No one can judge another. Just be your wonderful self.
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