Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Today was my first day back to work since JJ died. I stayed late - only an hour, but still. That means I failed the test, whatever test there was. The house has seemed uniquely lonely since Saturday evening; it feels like something huge is missing, like I've forgotten something important and I can't quite remember what it is. And tonight as my employees started packing up their things to leave, I didn't want to go home.
About three weeks ago, I had a therapy appointment and we unexpectedly talked about grief. I explained how I still feel very far from accepting the loss of my grandmother, which happened last October, and I said I actually feel like I've been just storing up losses - keeping a big list - for years, instead of really grieving and letting go. It was an extremely intense session. A couple days later, I noticed that JJ had some kind of a bug, as he wasn't eating much, and a couple days later two key relationships shifted in big ways - in ways that left me . . . losing. I see you, I wanted to say to the universe. Or to Grief itself. I hear you. I feel you. I know what this is about. But honestly all I could do is cry a bit and then add those losses to my list.
I cringe at this, and I know it's terribly indulgent to do so (although we are already blogging, aren't we?), but I think I'm going to write a little about losing JJ. I know he's a pet, and just an animal, and he lived a long life, blah blah. I'm not even really an animal person, to be honest. Everyone who knows me knows that. Losing JJ is a very minor loss, a very first-world loss, compared to most of the losses out there.
But it has been really difficult to have him gone. And losing him was truly horrific. I will never have a family of my own - cute little kids to bathe and send off to school and teach to drive and watch walk down the aisle. I don't have a partner - save a brief stint in the 90's when I lived with a boyfriend, I have lived alone for twenty years. JJ was my family. I am 41, and since I was in my mid-20's, he has been with me.
And now I am alone. I feel sad and confused and exhausted and traumatized by the events of last week. And saying, "Fine," or "Good. And you?" when asked, fifty times a day, how I'm doing, only makes me feel more confused and like I'm slowly floating away from reality and from myself.
I miss him terribly.