It is in the little things when difficulty arises.
I am not looking for sympathy. I am just sharing things as they are moment to moment. I am really missing Jim…and all the Jims I knew..the happy, easy and grumpy and frowning. I find myself in the middle of doing something and thinking “Jim would approve” or “not approve”.
For me, I am a cook. My thing is bringing the garden to the plate. I love to offer this. I love to do this for others. There was never a meal I prepared that didn’t consider and hope for the delight of Jimi.
And, so, I find I break down at dinner time. I can’t cook for one. I make way too much. I can’t harvest for one. I pick way too much. However, if I don’t eat it, the animals will. Nothing ever goes to waste.
But, that isn’t the point here. I am finding little moments difficult. It is usually when I break down and find myself between “what the fuck Jim?” to “you are really not here”. I can not explain this feeling. I am not angry but disappointed. I am not confused but wonder what happened. I am not in denial but can’t shake off or into the reality he is not here. I go to the bathroom, the garage, the carport, the sofa, the garden…where are you? It seems so unreal.
I loved to serve. I grew up serving. I am good at serving. I served Jim. He didn’t always respond with gratitude, but when he did, I was a star in heaven. Yep, it is my program and it runs deep. I consider and think of the other. It is crushing me now as the only one I serve is me. Not sure how I feel about that!
It is these little things that stop me in my tracks. Like having a morning coffee at 4 am (we both were often up at the time) and watching the fog in the night light hug the mountains. Our foggy minds gracious for our experience. Now I do it alone. Why Jimi? What happened? I would often go to the garage to see you. You were often too deep into something and I was a bother. Now, I just hear the echoes of things. What the hell?
It feels sometimes like a blip..a stagnation of time gone wild. I can’t handle these moments. They take me and drop me. Then I get up. They don’t last long, but they are intense. I am a cryer…so that is what i do. Then I wipe the tears and carry on.
The little things…like sharing with you at the end of the day. What you did. What i did.
Tonight, I made your favourite meal. I followed your instructions as you liked it. You liked to give me instruction. I rebelled just because I have years of experience in the garden and kitchen so your instructions often sounded rude. Your instructions included: how to make coffee; how to boil an egg; how to cook a baked potato; how to get the BBQ ready; how to…how to, how to. So, let me state… Jimi, you are not a cook. Sorry, you were not a cook. But, you had certain criteria and like to have some say in the kitchen. I followed your instructions often. I still do.
The last months, you tried to eat. You were not hungry. You tried to sit at the dinner table just because you know that was important to me (daily ceremony ritual and one of the few we have left). I remember and adore you for that.
It is quite a trip going through this. I am a strong person overall but I get taken into the fabric of sadness too. It can come on at anytime and just take you.
Maybe over time, the new way will become easier. For now, I keep expecting you. I keep hearing you. I keep thinking about you. I keep doing things for you and then realizing. I want to tell you about my day. I still am, I guess. I get slightly freaked out every once and a while as I forget you are gone. And, I wonder if the sounds in the night that wake me are you…or the animals doing their noisy thing?
Well, I am finished dinner now…so time to put down the finger pen.
I miss you a lot.
Love you, Leisha