(no subject)
I think about grief, and I think about him being gone, and I have so very many things to say. It is disorganised and I am sure that if I were to describe it tangibly it would resemble a fish gasping on a river bank. Or something. I like to talk about Tianyu, but I don't want to talk about my grief for him, or maybe I do; I'm not sure what exactly I want to do based on what is healthy or what I really care about.
Anyway, it comes and goes. I forget that he's not going to be here sometimes. It's so very easy to forget that I'm not going back to our apartment at the end of the night to find him sacked out in bed or in front of the computer. Then it's hard to forget after you remember. I won't touch his arms anymore. I'll never see his appendix scar again. Or I can't rag on him for not shaving.
I wish they had shaved his face. He didn't like not shaving, and he hadn't in two weeks because he kept forgetting that he was out of shaving cream.
I was listening to Fresh Air yesterday and this guy was talking about how corn is the SUV of plants, and I wondered what he would say to that. I could tell him everything, you know. Go to the graveside or keep a journal or whatever, but that's not the point. The point is that I'll never hear what he would say about it.
On the other hand, according to my medical book, Kidlet developed its liver yesterday, so I'm having a cup of coffee. Work that smooth ER, Kiddo.
I could talk about him forever, to be honest. And I know that every time I was on vacation without him, or at work, I did, incessantly.
The flowers are dying, and I have a cold. We had been trying to find a way to paint the living room walls so that they resembled stone. There is nothing he could have done that I couldn't forgive. Even now, people are just a little angry at him, and I just can't be. If I get mad at him now, I can't apologise later and hear him say that he forgives me. You know? He'll never do that little hand clapping dance he did when he was pleased with his jokes, or eat the entire bag of sunflower seeds that I was saving to cook with, or well, whatever.
I don't know. I just don't know, really.
Anyway, it comes and goes. I forget that he's not going to be here sometimes. It's so very easy to forget that I'm not going back to our apartment at the end of the night to find him sacked out in bed or in front of the computer. Then it's hard to forget after you remember. I won't touch his arms anymore. I'll never see his appendix scar again. Or I can't rag on him for not shaving.
I wish they had shaved his face. He didn't like not shaving, and he hadn't in two weeks because he kept forgetting that he was out of shaving cream.
I was listening to Fresh Air yesterday and this guy was talking about how corn is the SUV of plants, and I wondered what he would say to that. I could tell him everything, you know. Go to the graveside or keep a journal or whatever, but that's not the point. The point is that I'll never hear what he would say about it.
On the other hand, according to my medical book, Kidlet developed its liver yesterday, so I'm having a cup of coffee. Work that smooth ER, Kiddo.
I could talk about him forever, to be honest. And I know that every time I was on vacation without him, or at work, I did, incessantly.
The flowers are dying, and I have a cold. We had been trying to find a way to paint the living room walls so that they resembled stone. There is nothing he could have done that I couldn't forgive. Even now, people are just a little angry at him, and I just can't be. If I get mad at him now, I can't apologise later and hear him say that he forgives me. You know? He'll never do that little hand clapping dance he did when he was pleased with his jokes, or eat the entire bag of sunflower seeds that I was saving to cook with, or well, whatever.
I don't know. I just don't know, really.