July 2, 2009

Imprints

Posted in Uncategorized tagged , , at 7:18 am by letterstoelias

2 nights and counting.  I did it.  I managed to sleep most of the last two nights back in our old bedroom, in our old bed.  I spent Monday afternoon, after my last letter to you, trying to make the room more comfortable, emotionally speaking.  The real challenge of it all was finding a way to honour you and where you will rest.  To say it was ‘hard’ seems to greatly demean the gravity of the undertaking in some way, but I’m lacking the appropriate word right now.  There were times I felt practically nauseous.  My heart was racing (and no it wasn’t from the iced cap I was drinking).  My hands were shaky and I had to continually take lots of deep breaths – especially as I moved ‘you’ around.  And, while it still sucks beyond belief to have an altar of you instead of the physical you (no, the ashes don’t count – you get what I mean, cut it out), at least it’s something now that I can actually look at and be around.

I put a framed photo of us on one side – it’s a really old shot but one of my favourites – and on the other side a picture of the girls.  I also put in front a drawing of you that your Aunt Bernadette did on a card, as well as our gift from Sharon, a twig of the arbutus tree you hauled down off Soams, a memory box given to me by a neighbour to put keepsakes in, and a drawing E did recently.  She had drawn three people and wrote the names Mama, E and C beside them.  It made me a little sad to see that it was just the three of us, until she showed me the back where she wrote ‘P.S. I Love You Daddy’.  Interesting, because I’ve never told her about this site or what it was called.  She must have picked it up from one of my conversations with someone else.  She’s always listening, that one.  Unless I’m asking her directly to do something of course. . . .

I also put your water bottle up there for good measure, a candle, and a stone I found today that you had carried with you on occasion.  I wish I could find some of the other stones or ‘lucky marbles’ you used to carry.  Perhaps I’ll stumble across those when I’m up to going through your things.  It’s not exactly how I want it to be, but overall it’s not too bad either.  I think I have to be a little more patient with myself and not expect it to be perfect, because really – it never will be.  How could it be?  There is nothing ‘perfect’ about you being gone.  At least it got me in the room though, and for now that’s good enough.  As for the bed – even though it is physically FAR more comfortable then the girls’ bed, it is incredibly more painful to sleep in.  As I lay down to sleep I felt the familiarity of the sheets, the duvet, the shape of the mattress – a bit of a ridge in the middle as we had worn our ‘spots’ on either side, but there was no familiarity with the emptiness on the other side of the bed.  I put my arm across to where you would have been, forgetting I had tucked a few of your t-shirts under the duvet, and as such the level was raised just enough that it felt for a split second like it could have been you under the blanket.  The tears started flowing hard.  I thought of all the nights we would go to bed, you would always fall asleep before me and I would roll over and kiss your shoulder before going to sleep.  If you were still a bit awake you would put your hand out, I would put mine in yours and we would hold hands in the most comfortable, loving silence for a while before going to sleep.

I don’t know or remember how I fell asleep that first night.  Most likely exhausted from crying.  It was not for long, however as C awoke and I had to go to the girls’ room and lay with her for a while until she was back asleep.  E had done the same a bit earlier and I was starting to think that it was a sign I was not supposed to be gone from them yet, but I managed to sleep the rest of the night.  Last night there was still pain, but fewer tears.  It amazes me that my heart can be ripped out and totally trashed, yet I still wake up the next day.  It literally feels like its being physically destroyed at times.  Hard to explain, but true.  Anyhow, I’m currently working on night number three, but again C is stirring.  I thought she slept through the night now but I guess that was because when she would wake, she would fall back to sleep immediately because I was there.  Hopefully it will continue at least just the once a night as it has been the last few.  I’m also wondering why the house seems to snap, crackle and pop at night.  All these strange noises.  I suppose it likely does so during the day as well, but with all the business it’s not so noticeable.  I sure notice it when I’m alone at night though.  I wish I knew what made all the noise.  If it wasn’t something I had heard in the past I would think it was you.  Though, there was one ‘pop’ last night that was remarkably loud and even caught the dog’s attention, but neither of them felt the need to get out of bed so I figured it wasn’t too much to worry about – though it did have my heart racing.  Something that never would have bothered me had you been lying beside me.

E was very excited because Mrs. Penny and her daughter Zoe and Zoe’s children came to take the girls to Cedar Grove Park today.  She adores Mrs Penny and Zoe, and she gets along with Zoe’s girls great too.  It was also a good time for me to hop in the shower and write a few more thank-you cards finally – now it’s just to get them in the mail . . .Yesterday I had a really nice ichat with Anthony.  He was eating chips and candy of course – he had to keep up with your expectations of him.  He thinks he’s going to buy me a new computer because our mac crashed, but I’m trying to convince him otherwise.  It’s very sweet of him though.  He knows how much my writing has helped me to process the devastation of loosing you and he hates the thought of me loosing that too.  Apparently someone from Apple is throwing out a last ditch effort at fixing it though.  Not much hope, but we’ll see.  I haven’t had the chance to talk with Peter for a while, but it’s now down to the wire for the new little M family member to be born.  Three weeks, give or take (more likely give).  It makes me so sad to think that this new little person – your niece or nephew – never got the chance to meet their amazing Uncle Elias.

Like with our girls though, your imprint has been made on this world and in the lives of those that love you, and there you will carry on.  I’m sure you believed the woman at hospice about the power of the imprint you would have on the girls, but just in case you had any lingering doubt, here is some photographic evidence, along with a few more shots, and do NOT ask me where she came up with the one pose – all on her own:

The trampoline really brings out the giggles.  It’s nice to hear.  Absolutely authentic.  It’s only just been one week and it’s amazing to see how far E has come on it.    C is also really working and developing her language – her favourite word is definitely bubble, but she also says ball, owl, ‘ool’ for stool, among a few others.  Her favourite letter seems to be ‘b’ and pretty much every letter is ‘b’, numbers too.

Well, I should sign off and see how night number 3 goes.  I miss you.  I miss you.  I miss you.  Did I mention I miss you?  Your pictures are still hard to look at for more than a few seconds at a time because I still can’t believe I’ll never see your face again.  It hurts so much.  But, we’re getting by.

Update:  I fell asleep trying to add the photos, so I have survived night 3 since initially writing this.

All my <3,

~C~

P.S. I Love You

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4 Comments »

  1. Bridie said,

    Ha! I had forgot about the lucky marbles. Oh, Elias. He always made me laugh. I was telling Max today about when Elias would head out to Home Depot because he “needed something”, though if you asked him what, he would say quite earnestly that he wasn’t sure, but he’d know when he found it. He never needed to try to be funny, he just was.

  2. Andrea Renee said,

    Chelsea – thank you so much for your comment on my blog – we really do have a great many similarities. My heart goes out to you and your beautiful girls. We will survive this. We have to.

  3. Roads said,

    That’s hard work, it really is. I slept on Jenny’s side of the bed, for a long time afterwards. Until I got used to the middle, that is.

    • letterstoelias said,

      It is tough – some nights I just don’t want to go to bed. It had been so long since I’ve routinely slept alone and it’s an undeniable reminder of his absense – not that I ever forget, but it’s away from the business of the day, the noise of the girls, etc. Just the quiet of the room, his ashes, and me.
      I hadn’t thought of sleeping on his side, though I’ve since read of others who had done the same. I find I actually don’t even want the girls over there right now though. ‘Reserving’ his space perhaps? I don’t really know. Just another one of those difficult feelings to explain that seems to come with widowhood.
      ~C~


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