I hate rollercoasters. I always have and I'm pretty certain I always will. I know, when you ride one you are buckled securely into your seat and the odds of a person falling out are probably pretty low, but I still hate them. The simple thought of riding in a little cart while it slowly creeps up a steep incline just to zoom down the other side at twice the speed, to them launch up into a steep bank and then barrel through a loop-de-loop with absolutely zero control. Thanks but NO THANKS! I can think of many other ways to spend my time and keep my lunch in my tummy.
Yet the best comparison I've come up with to what life is like now is one of the things I hate most. A damn rollercoaster.
The last time I wrote here was Memorial Day. Memorial Day was rough and I honestly didn't expect it to hit me like it did. Brad didn't lose his life fighting for our country or anything like that yet that day really bothered me. I didn't have my person with me to do the things we generally do that weekend, even if it was nothing more than work outside around the house. It was lonely and as I sit here any type now, was the start of what has been several massive loop-de-loops on this course. Buckle up. This entry might be a long one.
Brad and I were opposites in many aspects. He was the social bee where I was the one content to stand back in the shadows. He never met a stranger and me, well I'm still back there in the shadows. He had zero problems doing things on his own. Me, I'm content to stay home if it means going by myself. Those opposites though, they worked together. He would pull me out of my shell when I needed to not be back in the shadows. I would rein him in for some home time when being on the go was wearing us both down. Regardless, of the situation or what was going on, we were together or the other one wasn't far behind. The last six months of his life we were together almost 24/7 which I know on some level wore on us but at the same time it's what we both needed. Yet now, I find myself listening to the silence that fills the house on a daily basis, longing for his footsteps coming through the door.
Don't get me wrong, I'm around people. I make a point to go work in with my Mom at her office at least once a week. I've made several trips to Bucklin to take in some highly competitive T-ball games. I head to therapy once a week to help me get out of my head and cope with this new hand that I've been delt in the game of life. But the lonileness, it's still there.
It sneaks up on me when I see someone in a plaid short sleeve button up shirt and ball cap and think for a second that it's him. Its there on the drive home from Bucklin when I pick up the phone to call him to let him know I'm on my way home. It's there after a full and productive day at work when I sit down in his chair and turn on the tv only to have the first screen show me all his favorite shows that he watched. It's there when I hear the familiar ding of a cell phone with the same alert I have set for his texts only to look at my phone and see it must have been someone else's. It's there when they call all the married couples to the dance floor at a wedding dance and that doesn't apply to us anymore because he's not here. Its there when I walk into the kitchen and find a watery mess of ceiling tile all over the floor from the washer upstairs and my first call can't come help me anymore. It's there ever single second of every single minute of every single hour of every single day.
Now I know you may see me or talk to me and think I seem good. Loneliness and coping can exist together. It's a matter of those single instances triggering it and the bottom falling out on me, just as if I was on a roller coaster. Strapped in. Riding along. Out of control. There are good moments and good days. They just all coexist together and there are times I feel like the operator of the rollercoaster has walked away from the controls.
One thing I've learned about loneliness that is brought upon by grief is you can be surrounded by loved ones and friends, doing things you love to do and it's still going to be there just as strong as when you are sitting at home, all by yourself, listening for those footsteps that aren't ever coming home again.
It's a damn rollercoaster ride and I hate rollercoasters.
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This is perfect. Thank you.