I've started going out more. Covid numbers are down, and while I've grown accustomed to be a lonely recluse, part of me thinks that it may not be mentally healthy to limit myself to the Museum, the grocery store, and the occasional visit to the dentist.
But it's making ever more aware that Bob is gone.
One example - there is a pioneer settlement in Blountstown, the next town over. They have an old loom that they wanted to get in working condition. A member of the weaver's guild in town asked if I would go with her to look at it. It's actually in good shape - it just needed a good cleaning, rust removal, and some oiling. The person who had invited me to go wasn't interested. I reached out to the rest of the weaver's guild and no takers (note: I have been a lurker in this guild for at least 25 years. In general, they seem to like to be thought of as weavers but no one seems to be actually doing anything)
I had stuck my toe back in the waters of the guild in an attempt to build some sort of social life. And when I found myself working on the loom in Blountstown, my inner mind was thinking that if I was going to work on a loom by myself, I could just as well do that at home). But I like the Pioneer Settlement, and the people there were grateful for my help, so it's OK.
But it made me feel lonely. It's about a 40 minute drive there. Bob would have gone with me. We would have chatted - he probably would have helped me. Maybe go to lunch after. And, of course, ridden home together.
As it was, drove there alone, worked alone, drove home alone. Glad to have been of help but in general got depressed.
Oddly, if I just stay at home, I don't get down. And I'm OK going to the museum; I did that drive alone for several years, so it's nothing different. Anything else just underscores that whatever I'm doing, I'm doing on my own.
Which brings me to my current state of panic. I'm flying to Boston tomorrow to visit Mike and Margo. I've warned them that there will be tears; I desperately want to see them. I want someone to take care of me.
When my friend Kim's mother died recently, she flew to visit her biological father (the divorce had been when she was quite young) and her brother an his wife. And she said she just sat in a chair and they brought her tea and when they asked what she wanted for dinner her reply was that she couldn't even get those brain cells together to make that decision - so they just brought her food.
Because of damned Covid, I never had that luxury. If I wanted tea, I had to go make it. If I couldn't decide what to eat, or get up the energy to fix it, well, eating didn't happen (and yes, there were some days that I simply didn't bother to eat). I had the animals to care for. And other things, like getting the AC replaced and the leaky roof fixed and the rotted porch torn out and replaced.
I've been pulling myself up by my own bootstraps for 2 1/2 years. And I'm tired.
And yet - there have been the panic attacks ever since I booked the flight. It's really hard to make myself go. Any time I have gone out, I'm good for just a few hours before the urge to come home gets overwhelming. I feel safe here. And, of course, the last time I left home - to go to Shands with Bob - well, things didn't turn out so well. I screamingly don't want to leave. It's all I can do to not bow out. I keep telling myself that I'll be home Saturday. I can do this.
And I cry every time I think about it. And it's going to be so hard. For the last 50 years, if I ever went anywhere, Bob would drive me to the airport. He wouldn't drop me off; he'd come inside so I could get a last hug before I went to the gate. As soon as I arrived, I'd call him. And call him every evening to tell him of my adventures. When I got home, he'd be waiting at the gate and I'd run into his hug and then tell him about my trip on the drive home.
Tomorrow morning, I will drive myself to the airport and leave the car in long-term parking. Go through security and get on the plane. I will not call when I get there, or any other evening. When I come home, no one will be at the gate, and I will drive myself home.
It's crippling.
I want to go home.
No comments:
Post a Comment