8 days

It’s been 8 days since my mom died.
When I say it out loud, I say “passed”.  It sounds nicer.  But either way, it’s been eight days since life changed forever, eight days since we gave up hope and let her go.
I can’t tell, really, if it’s been 3 days or 3 weeks or 3 months, but the calendar says 8 days.  My sense of time has been so distorted, especially for the first couple days.  Time passed so slowly yet so quickly at the same time.  People ask how I am, and I answer “Hanging in there.  One day at a time.”
Really, it’s one moment at a time.  Not one minute, one moment.  One piece of time.  There are moments that life is normal, working, watching tv, window shopping online.  There are other moments that are crushing, when nothing feels right and everything feels wrong and there can’t possibly be any way that it will ever be good again.  I’ve had more of those moments today than in the last week.  Maybe it’s the stages of grief I’ve heard about – the first one is shock and denial.  I’ve had shock, for sure, but not denial.  It just doesn’t seem real.  The next is pain and guilt.  Check.  The third is anger and bargaining.  I don’t think I’m there yet.  I can’t imagine bargaining; there’s nothing to bargain.  It won’t bring her back.  Next comes depression, reflection, and loneliness.
I think these are out of order.
Or maybe they just happen all at once.  I don’t know.  Where’s “I cry randomly when I’m driving” and “I just want to sink into the floor and be unconscious for awhile”?  What about “I can’t concentrate on anything because my mind is everywhere”?  Or “I think I’ll try finding a guy to date so I can direct my energy elsewhere”?
There was this guy I had been talking to in the weeks before 8 days ago.  We talked quite a bit, and finally met in person the day before 8 days ago.  It was nice – we sat at the bar and talked for upwards of three hours.  He asked me out again, and kissed me before we parted.  We talked pretty steadily over the next week too, me trying to keep things normal and him saying he was thinking of me.  On Saturday, he asked me when he could see me again.  We made plans for the following Saturday.  On Sunday night, we were chatting about normal stuff, mundane stuff really.  And then nothing from him.  All day Monday.  All day Tuesday.  I sent a couple messages – “Good morning”, “I have a babysitter for Saturday, what time works best for you?” – but nothing.  He disappeared.  He’s blocked his profile from me on the site we met on.  I’m flabbergasted.  Why no explanation?  I truly have no idea what happened, and now I’m kind of pissed off.  Lead me on then abandon me?  Bad for my self esteem.
So I had a little pity party for myself, then decided that it would be a good idea to get back on the dating site I met Stephen on.  I created a new account – didn’t reactivate the old one – and uploaded a photo.  I started looking.  I “liked” a few guys.  I came across my ex-husband (we were a 45% match, ha, I can attest to the inaccuracy of their matching system), then I came across Alan.  The guy who led me on then disappeared.
Of course I sent him a message.
It said something like “I’m kind of annoyed that you just stopped talking to me, with no explanation.”  He looked at my profile at 4-something this morning.  I know he’s alive and has internet access, which makes me even more upset.
I spent alot of today talking to guys who find some aspect of me appealing.  It’s freaking exhausting, trying to remember who’s who and what they do and where they live.  At some point, I realized that it was a mixture of grief and the sting of being “dumped” that made me feel the way I did over Alan yesterday.  Then I went on to realize that I got on this site for a distraction, for an ego boost.  I like being told that I’m pretty as much as the next girl.  It makes me feel good to have guys talk to me.
I also realized that I want to be wrapped up in someone’s arms, comforted.  Someone who loves me and cares about me and wants to take care of me.  I missed that so much, and I grieved that too.
A stupid thing to be grieving at a time like this, which made it all worse.  It brought on the “nothing is right” hollow feeling, the panic welling just below the surface, waiting to be unleashed in some scary way.  What if I never find love?  I’ll never be married for 44 years like my parents, not at my age.  What if I never have someone who cares for me and loves me and wants to take care of me?  What if it really is me and my 27 cats when I’m 95, chasing kids off my porch with a broom?
So I sit back and think about it, and I sigh.  I don’t know what else to do.

 

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