Getting Out Of The House

Grief is a strange thing. The last few days have been really bad as it was just after Memorial Day last year when Sandi was admitted and two days later we learned that the chemo was screwed up. The wheels really started coming off after that. The days leading up to Memorial Day and the day itself were her last few days when things were shaky, but we had hope. We could still have full conversations at that point and she was aware of much of the world around her. A few days later it was all going to hell.

That ended December 1st at 8: 45 AM and my utter hell began. That was 28 weeks ago Friday. It often still feels like it just happened. I miss her so much that even thinking about her for a second gets me to tears. The pain of her being gone, the grief, is so strong and so deep, the idea of getting out of bed, let alone going anywhere seems insurmountable and overwhelming. Going to the store and the library, let alone taking Scott to UTD, things that absolutely have to be done, is not only very hard due to my disabilities and very painful, but the sheer act of going anywhere is exhausting. A major part of that is the disabilities and the permanent chronic pain, but the grief is also a huge part of it.

So much so I turn down a lot of opportunities offered by friends to get out of the house and go somewhere. It all seems more work than worth it. Graham Powell and Earl Staggs pushed hard for weeks to get me to go down to Michael Bracken's place and I finally relented and went.

This week it was Johhny Wesner pushing again to  go down to The Wild Detectives on the far side of Dallas. He has been suggesting for months now we go down and that he would come pick me up to make that happen. I finally gave in today and went willingly after not being able to get out of bed most of yesterday I was so upset about Sandi.

Johnny Wesner (left), Scott Tipple (right back), and Kevin Tipple

Why I could do it today, I don't know. Maybe, somewhere, she gave me a little push as she would not want me sitting at home crying over her and hiding from the world.  I wish she was here to talk to. I talk to her urn every night as it sits on my bureau as I go through the motions of trying to live without the woman I loved so much and failed to protect when it really counted. I'd give anything to be with her for another minute.