After being in Southern California for the last month+, I am now back in Montana. Being back in LA gave me time to have a little bit of closure for the place that I’ve always lived. When I left, I felt rushed to say goodbye to people and it was so soon after Tommy’s death and I was in the middle of packing up my life. This time, I spent time with some friends, meandered around Southern California - Malibu to San Clemente to La Quinta and back again to LA. I wasn’t able to see everyone but I did keep busy working and spending time with my folks.
On my way back to Montana, I drove through Oregon and spent a few nights with Peter at the coast before I made my way to Bend, where I saw my brothers, their wives and nieces and nephews. It was a nice way to spend that very long drive, breaking it up with family.
The drive, overall, was almost 1800 miles. It was long and parts of it were hard. A friend recommended “Being Mortal” and it was an amazing listen for anyone who may be in this sandwich generation. There were moments on my drive that I had to pull over. The emotion of doing this move again, without Tommy, were at times just too much to bear. I am fortunate to have such a supportive and loving partner. Steve took my calls when I couldn’t breathe and was pulled over on the highway, and just listened.
Last spring, Tommy and I drove to Chico together to see Chico State. This was at the point that I still was imagining that he’d start college this fall. We drove up, spent the night and drove home the next day. For the life of me, I can’t remember when we did this, and for some reason don’t have it on my calendar, but while I was driving up last weekend, it hit me. I started seeing these trees that Tommy and I had talked extensively about. The trees led to a near panic attack and the physical response was so strong that I had to pull over. When Tommy and I went, we spent the night at some hotel up there and got pizza. We bought ice cream in the lobby and laid in our beds eating ice cream that night. He slept the entire car ride up and back. He had a habit of doing that in order to avoid having to drive. It drove me crazy but in the nicest way. I loved having him asleep in the passenger seat. It just felt so nice. I do know that we went while he was clean. Everything was already shut down. Looking back, I’m so thankful for that one on one time that I had with him.
I wrote this in the midst of my drive - just having the current memory of the sea air on my face with Peter next to me. A comparison of like/don’t like…
I like the feeling of the sea air on my face. I like the freedom that you feel when you look out at the huge endless expanse of the ocean. Today, I like the grey day. It fits my mood. A little grey. I like hearing the sound of the waves and imagining being a bird soaring over the ocean. Floating in the current, not needing to try. Not needing to work for anything, but just floating. Life seems so simple from that point of view. I like the smell of the sea air. I like the freedom of being on my own time clock. I like the feeling of that freedom. It’s new and slightly frightening, but it feels ok today.
I don’t like the waves of grief that have been coming over me in the last few months. I don’t like not being able to know what will trigger such tremendous pain that it’s paralyzing. I don’t like the feeling of not being able to breathe for the grief that has taken over my body and makes me tremble. I don’t like the feeling of knowing that my body is literally shaking and I can do nothing to stop it. I don’t like the feeling that my head starts to nod without my brain being involved at all. I don’t like the feeling of the shortness of breath and the inability to control it. I don’t like the images that flash in my brain during these moments. They are so painful to witness over and over again. I don’t like that my mind goes to these places without a willing participant. I don’t like the recurring thoughts of ‘he’s never…’. I don’t like the anger that wells up deep from inside of my veins. I don’t like imaging what this grief is doing to the others around me. I don’t like what the grief is doing to me. I don’t like that every hour of every day I’m reminded that I’m terribly sad and that I miss him desperately. I don’t like the uncertainty of grief. Of the way it’s literally taking over my life. I’m trying to take my life back and for the most part, I’m doing ok, but those moments when the physical response takes over are too much for me right now.
The Oregon Coast
