I wrote this last week in my journal. Cleaning out just the small amount that I have has been really hard so far. It makes me think of him an especially lot…

natestatue.jpg

Nathan in the morning,
Nathan in the night.
Nathan in a stranger’s eyes
In which I spy his light.
Though the chasm may be great
That ‘tween us intervenes,
I feel it when I walk the streets–
Nathan’s watching me.

Nathan in the morning,
Nathan in the night.
I sometimes think it all a dream
And grasp my pillow tight.
But if the water’s choking grip
Was reality indeed,
I will stay and raise our son…
And of Heaven dream.

God save me in the morning,
God save me in the night.
Save me from the fears and foes
That try to haunt my mind.
When my heart cannot recall
My beautiful, buried life,
Give me Nathan in the morning
And Nathan in the night.

I cleaned out my cabinets today. In clearing out the house as preparation for leaving it, I realized I needed to get rid of some stuff. Into the trash went so many memories. I wondered as I dropped his dusty aftershave (I miss his smell), his gummed up insect repellent (that we used everytime we went camping. And he would build his boyscout fires, and roll his own cigarettes like his grandpa, and I would drink coffee from a tin cup.), crusty creole seasoning (I miss his spicey gourmet preparations), and “doesn’t-look-right” pepto bismol (that I went out and bought for him that time he was sick…I miss him!) into the trashcan if I would ever again remember the memories that these pieces of expired trash conjured up in my mind. Maybe there will never be anything that triggers some of those memories for me ever again. I cried while I was doing it. And cried again as I sat and watched the unassuming garbage truck haul away the last of my husband’s belongings away to the landfill void. Treasures for me that I cannot healthily keep. Grimey garbage worthy of being mixed with dirty diapers to the rest of the world.

I’m sad again. I hate being his widow. I want my trash back.

Advertisements