numbness

#9

Lisa Lienemann grief Tags: , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Yesterday turned out to be such a hard day and a harbinger of hard days to come. And I wanted to hide from the world. Crumble. Go back to bed and pull the covers over my head and pretend I could make all the hatefulness in my email box go away. But, it just isn’t in my nature to lie down and give up. To not deal. And sometimes I hate that about myself.

I don’t know what you’re thinking about all of this. I want to talk to you about it so much it physically hurts to not be able to. I just know that we are so different in how we approach things like this. And I know how you would want it handled with your kids. But I don’t know if I can be the person you were… I don’t know if I can turn the other cheek. To let her walk all over me. To treat me so abominably in the worst moment of my life and get away with it.

So, I’m just here to say that I’m trying to find my way. To honor you and your memory. To do what’s right by your kids and still somehow hold in tact my own sanity and self-respect. Please help me, honey.  I need you here to help me with this…which is so irrational because if you were here I wouldn’t be dealing with it.

I miss you

Luce

#8

Lisa Lienemann grief Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I moved out of the rental in Maryland yesterday. Packed up the car, the dog, and the huge peace lily your Aunt Jane gave me along with all the other detritus from my life up there and started the long, slow, journey back to the lake.

I’ve never dreaded coming home like I do. Maybe it’s not dread, really. It’s a feeling I don’t think there’s a word for. A simultaneous feeling of wanting to go but not wanting to get there. An irresistible pull toward this place while feeling the knot in my stomach about my arrival. And it was every bit a hollow and lonely as I expected. The loneliness is physically painful and ever present.

When I finally crawled into bed, bone-tired from all the work of moving out and cleaning today, I hugged your pillow and breathed you in. Your essence still here but your you so frustratingly and unbearably far away and unreachable.

I miss you

Luce

#4

Lisa Lienemann Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I’m sitting here next to a pile of your clean laundry, neatly folded, and no longer smelling like you. The knots are in my stomach again- feels like all the time, really. I just feel lost, sidelined, and apart from the world. Not quite in it and not quite out of it. All things being equal, I’d rather be with you in either place, but just together. It takes a lot of energy to be here without you.

It’s an absolutely stunning day on the lake- hot & sunny. And all I could think was how we’d have been out there early. Stocked up with w/a Yeti full of ice and cocktails, beers, and snacks with a plan for swimming up the dog and getting him back to the house if it got too hot for him. You’d pack the drinks, and I’d go behind you and add more because I never felt like you packed enough. We’d make a plan to meet up with our Lake Friends after they did their yard work and household chores- things we’d left undone. We’d have a whole day on the lake to ourselves before we met up with anyone and I always liked that. How we knew to focus on the fun first and get the living in- chores will always be there, but we took advantage of the sun and smooth waters when they presented themselves. I’m glad for that. Thank you.

I’m trying to stay focused on the things I know need to be done, but it’s hard. I need to call the credit card companies and tell them you’re dead. I need to find the marriage certificate so I can process the life insurance policy. I need to clean off your side of the bed- since I just keep adding clean laundry to it. I keep to my side at night and wake up wishing your leg would come over and touch mine as you stretch out. But it doesn’t. Never will again.

I miss you

Luce

#1

Lisa Lienemann Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

I have no energy for catchy titles. A number will have to do for now. I may not number them all, but for now it just seems easy. It’s hard to focus and keep my train of thought, so trying to come up with a title, well, no. I cannot.

It’s been ten days. It feels like both longer and less than that… mostly I just feel numb. Still. I am really wondering when that will go away and it will start to feel real. I feel like I’m not mourning you right. I’m afraid you’re watching me and wondering why I’m not more upset. Why am I able to function? Why am I not crying uncontrollably every moment? Why was I able to manage the trip to the funeral home to arrange your cremation (including viewing your body), plan your celebration of life, drive to Maryland, write an obituary, pick out music and pictures, and food?? How did I write a eulogy. How did I deliver it…without breaking down?? The first week was a endless stream of decisions and motions that NEEDED to be done. The service was what I wanted – a tribute, a celebration, a bringing together of all of our family and friends. Yay me. I did it. I pulled it off. Now, it’s over. I can fall apart.

But I haven’t.

I’m just mostly waiting for it to seem real. For the big pain to come. For the little nauseous feeling to turn into full-blown wretching. For an ache to set in that is bone-deep and relentless.

I miss you

Luce