Saturday, July 20, 2013

I Guess It's Really True.

Shortly after Glenn's death, a dear friend sent me Joan Didian's book, A Year of Magical Thinking.  The author's husband suffered an inexplicable and unexpected  cardiac arrest at home, very similar to Glenn's attack. Her book is a touching memoir of her journey through grief.

I read it soon after Glenn's death, and I remember reacting to one part in particular. She was hesitant to give her husband's clothes away because she kept thinking that he would need them when he got back. At the time I scoffed a bit, knowing in my own mind that G wasn't coming back. And yet, as I move forward, each decision to move or change something of his,even when I instigate it, or want to do it, has a little wave of panic wrapped around it. As if I realize a little more each time that he REALLY isn't coming back. I thought I knew it, but five weeks later I think I'm just starting to believe it. And it is weird.

Yesterday I met with our accountant, the man who has done our taxes for a long time, and knew all the clergy benefits available. How odd to be seeing him in July, and alone. He gave me the bad news of how much more I need to withhold (a lot) now that Glenn's meager pension is added onto my modest income. He also gave me the good news that I will be financially okay. He showed me what to pay off, and what to put in a nest egg. He also confirmed as logical my ideas about what to do about the damn lease on our van, (one of those "what were we thinking Glenn" questions...).  It seemed so weird not to pick up the cell phone on the way home and call him to share what I had learned. 

When I returned  Glenn's almost brand new phone (remember he called it his "phablet"?) to Best Buy, they graciously refunded me more than the price of the phone; I wasn't sure why, but I was good with that. Today on a whim, I went there and  used the gift card to buy myself an inexpensive Samsung (I'm loyal because they gave my school 100k)small laptop- much more portable than the old Dell we have. It felt good but weird...electronics were Glenn's gig. Again, so strange not to come through the door and show him what I chose. And weirder still to set it up by myself.

On a lighter note, every time I accomplish something independently I hear myself singing the old Helen Reddie song "I Am Woman Hear Me Roar..." 

And then I look around to see if it is really (still) true. 

And it is.