The Runaway B

I am getting that feeling again.

Like I want to up and run.

Run like I did after Rob died.

Try to outrun the pain, the grief.

It is suddenly hard now, to be in our townhouse.

We bought it together. We had big plans.

Hardwood floors upstairs, you redesigning the kitchen in your head.

Eventually getting me on board with your kitchen design vision.

Your shelves above the desk, still only imagination.

Your ideas for decorating the mantel that you had to have.

I do not know what to do with it now.

You had the vision, not me.

A vision I was unable to see.

I never could imagine the house changes like that.

You could though.

You would say you will just have to see it; you will love it when you see it.

You knew it would have to be tangible for my mind’s eye.

The work we did in the back patio.

The garden sanctuary we created for ourselves.

The garden, you were going to help me that spring and summer, start digging in the dirt.

I am getting that familiar feeling again.

Up and run. Run away from everything you have ever known. Start fresh somewhere I have never been.

Maybe this time the pain will not follow.

When I look through the door in the plant room, I can see you walking by.

When I look out the living room window, I can see you walking up with your work bags.

When I go into our bedroom, I can see you lying there.

When I open your now empty closet, I still see your flannels, your dress shirts, your things.

You butt dialed me once.

It was all static, then somewhere in the middle you realized and said, “ Jo?”

You never ever left messages.

That was a few years ago, something made me save it.

I heard it after you died.

It might as well have been a machete to my soul.

I will never listen to it again.

I think if I did I would spontaneously up and die.

And in some moments, that seems okay.

I will never get rid of it.

I may never listen to it, but I will always have it.

It is getting hard to be here.

To stay here, stay here in the home we created.

Stay here in our unfinished projects and plans.

Stay here in our broken dreams, the home we made and all of our things.

I want everything here to stay exactly as it is, a time capsule, a preservation of what we had.

I also want everything here to disappear.

To completely change, rearrange, rearrange.

It is too hard to walk into our bedroom.

I do not know how to make it mine.

I want to, but I also do not.

The push and pull of: do I keep it all or let it go?

I see you everywhere I look.

Every corner, every nook.

I do not know how to stay here without you.

I do not know if I want to stay, but I also cannot walk away.

Frozen in limbo, unfinished, broken dreams.

We were about to start looking at properties for our homestead.

The place we would eternally rest our heads.

Some days it is comforting to be here.

With your whisper everywhere, your style, your things, our dreams.

Other days it is utterly unbearable.

All I can do is cry.

Fall to the ground and sob, all day long.

Maybe a few minutes here and there where I can get some reprieve, where I can just breathe.

Show up to work the next day with golf ball eyes.

“How was your weekend?”

It was good, she lies.

I do not know if I can stay here.

In our home, so empty without you, so alone.

I do not know that I can bear to leave.

Leave our home in the past, our dreams, us.

Leave your memory.

Leave the place you died, the last place I held you as you cried.

And now it is just me, crumbled and broken, crying on the floor.

Not wanting to come or go out our front door.

As always, I would love your comments, stories, or feedback.