It's been just over a month. I'm not quite over it. That horrible it I'd rather not think about. I divide life into BDE and ADE (Before the death of Eddie and After the death of Eddie). I'm still sleeping with the rice-filled cat pillow. I find it comforting. However, you may be relieved to hear, the grief is lifting. Seeing BDE photos of Eddie and me on my screensaver is becoming less of a stab through the heart.I used to be such a pot-stirrer, a brazen risk-taker, a leaper into abysses. I was always ready to move on . . . new city, new job, new relationship, one little hiccup and I was packed and gone. Old age has tempered my willingness to explore the unknown. I don't like change now, I realize. When my perception is that I'm hanging on to sanity by a thin thread, change can look a lot like a sharp pair of scissors. Change happens; I know I'm not immune. For instance, losing my mother will be a drastic change. I've wondered if my intense reaction to losing Eddie has been heightened by the slow grinding demise of my mother. She's dying in slow motion. I'm grieving in slow motion. I don't know. I don't live with my mother. Eddie and I were roommates for thirteen years. You get used to something after thirteen years. When it's gone, you miss it, even if it's a cat. I'd miss a ham sandwich if I lived with it for thirteen years.
When I realize most of my life is behind me, what used to seem important no longer interests me. I continue the process of jettisoning stuff from the Love Shack. I'm like a rocket burning off its boosters as it launches into the stratosphere. Why did I think I needed all this stuff? The books and DVDs are almost all gone now, donated to the library. My wardrobe is in tatters; if I ever move to warmer climes, I will consider replacing some clothes, but really, how much does one person need, especially considering the unpleasant consequences of unbridled consumption?
Well, let's be realistic. I guess I'm not ready to let go of everything. I'd miss my bathtub, if I didn't have one. And my coffee maker, can't live without that. I wouldn't miss my television but I'd probably stroke out if I had to go without my computer. So there's that. I still eat food I buy in stores, so I won't be foraging in the fields or making campfires in the near future. I wouldn't call what I do cooking, but I do heat food before I eat it. Although if the big one hits, we may all be pooping in holes and cooking mush over fires made from our broken furniture. Well, I'll help my neighbors in any way I can, if I can extricate myself from the wreckage of the basement.
At least my cat won't have to go through that trauma. A strange kind of blessing, to count up all the terrible things he has avoided by dying. That may someday be my strategy, when dementia scrapes away the rest of my functioning neurons. I hope I'll have a few brain cells left to help me make my escape when it's time to exit, stage right.
