24. Don't Cry

"Don't be so hard on yourself, 

Those tears are for someone else. 

I hear your voice on the phone. 

I hear you feel so alone, my baby. 

Oh, my baby..." 

~Seal, Don't Cry

So one of the side-effects they don't warn you about when you're recovering from surgery is how much it hurts to feel...and I don't mean "feel" in the physical sense.  Emotions like happiness and the laughter that accompanies it are to be avoided at all costs because any movement in the vicinity of my three abdominal incisions ratchets up my discomfort from bearable to torture.  I literally have to hold onto my side to reduce the pain caused by the vibrations when I laugh.  


Crying, as I discovered, is even worse.  While lying in bed the other night trying (and failing) to find some sort of position that didn't involve putting pressure on my midsection, I talked to Jon about how much I wished he was lying there next to me and found myself in tears for the first time since the doctor told me I would need surgery.  Over the past week, I've been so exhausted from the recovery process and so stressed with these ongoing exams that it's as if I've been living in a small, compartmentalized box where I don't allow myself to venture down the road of all the deep, dark, and more permanent scary emotions associated with Jon's death for fear of what will happen if I add them to the pile.  It's strange - besides having just had surgery, I can't put my finger on exactly what's going on in my head and in my heart right now.  My focus and concentration are all off, I feel panicked - almost frantic - and like I can't sit still for more than about 10 minutes at a time, and (silly though it probably sounds) I've become almost obsessed with shopping for the "perfect" summer wardrobe as if retail therapy is going to fix the other issues that I'm avoiding dealing with instead.  I suddenly don't seem to be taking any of my own advice when it comes to not bottling things up and pretending on the surface like everything is okay...maybe it's in response to the last few months of being constantly on the verge of tears and feeling every single emotion so deeply and intensely every hour of every day.  Maybe I'm just tired in every sense I can possibly be - tired from school, tired from surgery, tired from always being tired, and, most of all, tired from the thoughts that constantly cross my mind about what I'm going to do when I suddenly find myself with all the time in the world this summer - not to mention the rest of my life - and no Jon to share it all with.  Whenever friends and family talk about their husbands and wives or current relationships, I feel this uncharacteristic surge of jealousy when I sense their happiness and yearn more than ever to have what they have here on earth with Jon.  I don't know what happened to all my well-founded commitment to remaining patient until the time when I know I will see and be reunited with Jon again.  It's as if the gravity of how much time that may very well end up being is finally beginning to sink in...


I've finally planned a trip to visit Jon at Arlington later this month over the Memorial Day weekend - I'm hoping that will help.  After fearing the sight of the headstone I already know all too well for the last 6 months or so, I figured it's time to face that fear and not let it consume me.  One thing I can guarantee on this trip:  there will be much laughter as I reminisce with our old friends about the good times and there will be many tears as I sit with Jon and run my hands down his headstone because I can no longer run my hands down his face the way I wish to.  The tears will run, the laughter will flow...and maybe, just maybe, it won't hurt quite so much to feel.