Friday, July 21, 2006


Junebugs are fluttering outside my bedroom window. I know this because for the past few minutes, I have heard an intermittent humming followed by a tap, tap tap. It's the kind of thing you only notice when it is very quiet, and it is only ever that quiet when you are alone.

I've always had roomates. I guess I still do if you count Iain, but he goes to bed early and sleeps very quietly. Dalton didn't go to bed early. If anything, I went to bed early and fell asleep to the undercurrent of South Park or Whose Line Is It Anyway. But that was only after he got sick. Normally we went to bed at the same time. And then, even when it was quiet, I didn't hear the junebugs. I can't explain it, but people make noise even when they are quiet. Their very prescence stirs the world around them. Perhaps it is because other parts of who they are occupy our senses and demand our attention. Their smell, their warmth, their subtle movement of breath. Our ears take a backseat, so that even when it is quiet, we are still connected. That is what it is like to be one flesh.

And now, I hear the junebugs.

Does that mean that my body is recognizing the loss? Like the loss of a limb, is my body finally realizing that part of it is missing?

The past two weeks have been harder for me. I cry more often and with less warning. I still don't cry much in front of others, but it has happened. Everyone tells me that the worst is yet to come (six months is supposed to be a doozie), but I wonder how that can be? It is not in my nature to not be effective, to ignore my child, to neglect the bills or the house, so I can't imagine "worse" manifesting in those arenas. Will I simply feel more pain? I can't imagine that either. I suppose we'll have to wait and see.

And yet, the idea of passive suicide sounds so good already. I came across this idea on the blog of another young widow (we're a prolific bunch). She explains that she is too much of a go getter, a strong take charge, I can conquer the world kind of gal to ever kill herself. BUT...(and this is the passive suicide part), if someone diagnosed her with terminal cancer and gave her just a few months to live, she'd be all the happier. That's me. I'd just like to join Dalton and be reunited with the part of my flesh that has gone missing. I know it will happen someday, but give me a break. I am human and impatient and in pain. And I don't like the sound of junebugs.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Tricia thanks for writing! I wait to hear how you are doing. I don't care what people far as 6 months being worse. I think that the more time that goes by, the harder it gets to live alone because obviously you miss the love of your life, your partner, your friend even more. I don't think that the pain will ever go away. I think you learn to live with it. Talking about my personal experience.....the more time that went by...the harder it was for me. That's just me telling you my experience. Everyone is different, because everyone has different marriage relationships. I wish I could say that things got easier! Reality is that it's been 1 1/2 years for me....and there is no way I can tell you that it's gotten better. In everything I do from the smallest decision to the most insignificant thing....I miss him dearly! All I can say is to stay busy, get invlolved in the church, and ask God for love, peace and strength! You are in my prayers!

12:06 AM  
Anonymous Jeanette Newton said...

I am reminded of a Calvary Chapel song from many, many years past:
"My peace I give unto you, it's a peace that world cannot give, it's a peace that the world cannot understand, peace to know, peace to live, my peace I give unto you." If God could only sing this song in your ear, and overshadow the sound of the June bugs long enough for you to know peace...even for a second or two each day. The fruition of your life matters to many, including humble me.

8:50 PM  
Blogger Lisa Kekaula said...

I am thinking of you Tricia. Not a day goes by that I don't send my prayers to you. I know that does nothing for your pain but it is all I can offer.

11:19 AM  

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