Last Friday, on the 24th, when I called my Mom she mentioned that they finally had Deat's stones up at the cemetery. (For those of you who didn't know, Deat is buried in P-town). The first set that came in had a stain on one of the stones and Mr. Bledsoe sent them back... so I've been waiting for this news since before Memorial Day.
I had plans with Tina and Cathryn for my birthday for the next day, (25th), so I called my in-laws and told them the news and made plans to meet them in P-town on Sunday the 26th, though I really wanted my first trip to see them to be alone.
What I didn't expect was for this news to hit me like a ton of bricks at 100 mph. I was up half the night that night in tears... luckily, CT, my soldier friend, (my instant messenger therapist, ha ha) showed up at about 1am... he's had to "listen" (read) about these things quite a bit. I can type away and he has no idea I'm in tears if I don't tell him... yet somehow he either (a.) says the exact right thing or (b.) aggravates me so much I end up laughing before I log off anyway. Usually, it's both.
I talked to Mom again that Saturday and she said (and she was right) that making the trip to P-town and back in one day with the girls would be too hard, so I made plans to go this weekend, which gave me a whole week to stress and dread some more....
I told Fill on Friday that I went back and read through my blogs and realized that nearly all of them are about death, dying, grief... and it bothers me a bit but it's just where I've been, can't change that. Besides, if anyone reading this HASN'T had a major loss, maybe this will help one of you when you do. Grief is crazy, and irrational... maybe someone reading this, in the midst of their own grief will think, "Wait, I'm not going crazy, this is normal, I remember when Kelly said... "
So anyway, I've spent a great deal of time analyzing my own behavior, and I've learned a lot... but I don't think I ever made as much progress in this whole grief process as I did in an hour at Deat's grave. So much so... I'm giving that one it's own blog.
So, Saturday:
Got up, took a shower, fixed my hair, put on make-up... for those of you who know me well, this is not my Saturday routine. I almost never bother with make-up on Saturday unless we're having a cookout, sometimes not even then. I carefully picked out my favorite blue sweater, the one I knew he liked on me. I was running all around the house looking for a certain pair of jeans... even though every other pair I owned were clean and hanging up.
I stopped myself, "Why are these jeans so important?" hmmm. Because I've lost weight since Deat died, and I wanted the pair that really showed it off... "Um, Kel, he's not there..." As I've said before, grief is crazy. No matter how logical and rational a person you believe you are, the denial, the bargaining stages will creep in and out.
I always get anxious when the girls and I go out of town, I'm always afraid I'll forget the one thing I need when I'm packing. Filly and fam came over, and she stayed right with me, clucking like a Mama Hen the whole time I packed and basically kept me sane. My plan was to take the girls to my sister's house, go to the cemetery alone, then take the Beretta to the shooting range to get rid of how frustrated I figured I'd be after going to the cemetery. We finally got on the road at about 11:00, to my sisters' by 1:30, and I was back out to the cemetery by about 2.
I have a journal that I wrote a letter to Deat in every night for the first 2-3 months after he died. I decided to take it and my favorite pen with me.
to be continued.....
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