Page 106 of A Lifetime of Afters
Chapter 2 – Whack-A-Mole
It was becoming apparent to me, for reasons unknown, that I was living more and more in the past, bombarded by painful memories over the past several weeks like I hadn’t been since that first awful year. I thought I had been making progress, waking up and looking around a bit, seeing how everyone else had grown and changed.
My best friend, Mara, was probably over-stretched. Mara was writing full time, homeschooling full time, and raising her daughter Olivia, you guessed it, full time. Olivia turned eleven, already on the cusp of being a teen, God help us. Mara’s younger sister, Willa, who became a close friend over the last few years, successfully ran her own graphic design business.
I opened my online business the same year Jack passed, but I’d generated little else new since. I had the same clients and produced much of the same designs. There was nowhere and nothing from which to draw inspiration because my ass had glued itself to my couch.
So, I took a look around and for the first time in a long while I actually saw, and understood, how stagnant I’d become. I resolved to make some changes, but my mind kept pulling me back into the past. Triggered by smells, triggered by weather, triggered by music, just frankly triggered.
On my way home from Mara’s yesterday, I got stuck following a funeral procession. Time slipped away and it was late summer seven years ago. I could smell the barbeque in the air, hear the children squeal as they ran through sprinklers, feel the sun beating unrepentantly through the window of the limo that headed a long line of the same, a graceless black shadow slithering along the streets taking me to bury my husband.
The funeral home had been an absolute nightmare.
“Thank you, thank you for coming.”God, how many times am I going to have to say this.
“He was a good man. He’ll be missed.”
“Yes.”Fuck you.
“Anything you need, let us know.”
“Thank you.”I need my fucking husband. Can you help me with that?
“Bex.” Mara slid up quietly behind me. “You going to blow?”
“Yup.”
“Come, get some air.”
We stepped outside the back door of the funeral home. The absence of all their fucking voices, murmuring bitter nothings, offered a welcome respite. My senses were overwhelmed: too much noise, too much sound, too much bright.
So much empty.
Today should have at least been grey, as the world should be without him, as I was without him.
“I love you, Bex.” Mara hooked my pinky with hers.
Her touch, the glue to my grieving, fragmented self.
Her little finger, my tether to the world.
One I was pretty sure I wanted no part of.
I didn’t know how to do life without him. It wasn’t like we were joined at the hip, and certainly I didn’t see myself as dependent on him as Mara was with Zale, no judgment, just her nature.
Jack was simply a huge presence, bursting with energy, honestly, he was the sun. His absence left a massive crater in my life. While we spent almost every available free minute together, we had separate lives as well.
Career-wise we had our own gigs going on and we were both busy. I worked for an older, successful jeweler who had his own business in town for years. He was looking to retire soon, which meant I worked more and more, slowly taking over his customers. I’d also been researching the merits of opening up my own online store. My work studio at home saw a lot of me in the evenings, which created no friction because Jack worked long hours as well. I worked when he did, as best I could, so I’d be free when he was.
Being in real estate, and damn successful at it, he worked odd hours and all hours. In the Spring and late summer, the hours were seemingly endless, and this past summer did not break the trend. However, he could not keep up as well as before. His energy flagged, he struggled to get his workouts in and couldn’t keep his energy up. We were walking and spending time outside whenever we could, and he slept more, but he could not shake the fatigue. His appetite dipped, he developed pain in his abdomen, and he started losing weight. We were worried about an ulcer. That was also the doctor’s initial thought.
We were wrong.
“You ready, baby?”
“Bex, you don’t need to come with. I’m good honey.”
Jack looked concerned. He never liked to worry me. Thankfully, he preferred me sassy and busting his balls. Lately, I couldn’t help but hover over him a bit, and I laughed when he frowned and told me not to worry.
