July 9

 Actually it's July 16 but it's about July 9.

And Hello, 2022 Ann.  It's 2021 Ann with another word dump.  Y'know, I have other stuff to write about - projects I've been working on, books I've been reading, stuff like that.  But somehow I keep getting sucked into brain chaos.  And I've been falling apart a bit lately.  Crying at odd times.  Suddenly again not being able to stand the gaping emptiness of the bed beside me (I remember last year, first sleeping on the couch for a couple of months, and then only being able to use the bed if I piled it with laundry baskets and whatever else I could find.  Remembering the look he would give me, that made me know that in his eyes I was forever 19.

Because July 9 happened again.  Just like it does every year about this time.  This is what I wrote on FaceBook:

Well, it's effing July 9 again. Is it possible to really hate a date? (answer: yes). Check out the picture - 1999, handsome shirtless man holding a kitten (still makes my knees a little wobbly). Twenty years later, July 9, 2019, we're in the vet's office and he's saying he's sorry and we let her go.

Two hour later we are sitting in the doctor's office, and he is saying he's sorry, but it is leukemia.

And I think that pretty much describes a crap day.

(By the way - those two are still together. I mixed their ashes)

And somehow I feel like my life has been on hold since then. For 9 months we had to focus on battling the disease. Then I lost him and simultaneously gained a pandemic.

I think I've done a pretty good job of holding myself together. I have my volunteer work at the museum. I've made new friends (online). I've joined a book club (online). I exercise (to online videos). I maintain my yard and care for my animals (at least that's not on a screen).

But dammit, I miss him. I miss having him to chat with, to laugh with, to cook with, to share meals, ideas, plans, and projects. I achingly miss having someone to touch.

And you have to put the blame for that somewhere, and I blame it on July 9. Screw it.

It's hard to grasp that I've sort of lost two years of my life - I just don't have a grip on it. And the problem is that time doesn't go in a straight line from the past to the future - because of seasons, and dates, it sort of spirals, like a vulture riding a rising thermal, as you get farther away from the past but you circle over it, looking down, seeing my life with Bob get a little further away, and still not being able to see anything in the future [side note: for that I partly blame the damned Covid. It was almost better, with cases almost at 0 and positive rate of less than 2%. But then everything opened up and over half the county hasn't bothered to get vaccinated so the numbers are climbing sharply again]

So Bob was diagnosed on July 9, 2019, and died March 30, 2020, and for those almost 9 months I did absolutely everything I could think of to help him. I fixed all his food according to his allowed diet, went walking and swimming with him, we counted our blessings almost daily to keep a positive attitude, and I spend the last three months in the hospital doing whatever I could.

And July 9, 2020 through March 30, 2021, I relived every damned day of that. Wondering what I could have done more, could I have helped him more, somehow hearing the words of my father [I don't think I've ever mentioned that I have Daddy issues.] "your best isn't good enough."

My best wasn't good enough. (of course, neither was the best of 6-8 doctors, the other doctors they consulted, and a wardful of wonderful nurses).

Some how I made it through that second 9 months, and got a little better after that. But now it's all crashing in again. And I know I can get through it, but dammit, I'm tired. And after 16 months of being alone - I'm getting lonely. Being in a pandemic isn't conducive to getting out, doing new stuff, and making friends.

So, 2022 Self - this is for you, because I don't seem to have anyone else at the moment. (That's not fair - I know I have Amanda and Robert and the kids, and Mike and Margo. But they're not physically here). I'll get through this again, and be stronger and better and try to lay down the foundations of some sort of new life for you.