So it’s been a month. Somehow it’s been four weeks since that day we lost Cabin Grandpa, Dad, Curt… but it feels like yesterday and forever ago at the same time.
This week I had good days. I got up every day and went to work. I cried every day. But not that hysterical, can’t breath crying, just the ‘normal’ cry that happens sometimes.
I seem to be suffering from some mild PTSD. I don’t really know if that’s the right term, but can’t seem to come up with any other one that applies so well. Every time the door bell rings unexpectedly, I freeze. Can’t move, can’t answer the door, just stand there… short of breath… and then have a small tear fest over it. Hopefully that goes away some day. Can’t burst out crying every time someone drops off a package or pops by for a visit, right?
One of Vince’s friends came over and was helping him move some stuff the other day. He is a guy Vince works with and was with him when I called him to tell him the news. I guess he just got home Tuesday… when he said that all I could think of (and say cause I can’t keep my mouth shut apparently) was that was the day Vince would have come home if none of this had happened. Then there was a moment of silence and just… it felt like acceptance that all this really happened. And… then I had to jump ship (or the kitchen in this case) and go cry it out in my car on the way to pick up the kids from the babysitters.
Our house has been inundated with belongings that aren’t supposed to be here. I am so glad they are- we have pieces of an amazing man’s life surrounding us, but I’m so mad they are too. I don’t want his things- I want him. His first chainsaw is posted proudly on the beam in our garage… makes me cry every time I pull in. Boxes and boxes of die cast models he left to Vincent, labeled in Curt’s handwriting… makes me smile and cry every time I get out of my car. A ‘sport’s diary’ Sawyer pulled out of Grandpa’s gun cabinet (empty of guns, mind you) and was sitting by my bed and written in 1974… makes me laugh and cry.
How long until it’s just laughs and smiles and less and less cries? And how long will it be until we pick up his shirts that I’m saving to do a project with… and they don’t smell like him anymore? How long will it be until I’m able to actually cut and sew those shirts into what I want? I still feel like if I do I’m going to get in trouble (from him!). How long until the weight of this isn’t a daily struggle to survive? How long until the waves are less and less frequently and smaller so I’m not pushed over each time? I don’t ever wish time to go by because it already does too fast, but I do want the hurt to be less. Working on it.
The other morning we finally had a moment, a ‘visit’, a ‘sign’ from Curt that he made it. I’ve been waiting and waiting for something. I can feel Brenda (my mother in law) around us at times… other great people we’ve lost too. I’ve always felt that way about those who have moved on: that they are still here, checking in on us. But I couldn’t feel him.
At 2:50 in the morning, the radio came on. It has NEVER done that ever… and a song was playing. It’s called ‘Rainbow Stew’ and neither of us had ever heard it before. The song is about how great life will be and we will all be together under a sky of blue, drinking and eating rainbow stew. It was written during Vietnam (which Curt served in) and the singer toured there and sang this album. It was a moment to let us know he made it and was drinking ‘free hub-a-lub and eating that rainbow stew’ with his sunshine. I know it was him… I guess seeing more and more of those signs will help to make the pain feel manageable? I sure hope so! Until then I’m going to keep wading through the waves and trying to lift up those around me. Wish me luck!