Quiet

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.