Okay, today is the real deal. No pretending. It's been bubbling up for days and it's time to let it out. I didn't keep a journal for many years because I didn't want Ian to ever read it and know what was going on with me while all was going on with him. I didn't ever want him to know the deepness of my despair or level of frustration when it was so minute compared to what he was faced with. Now I'm writing on this blog and decided today not to hide it even if someday Lucy reads this post and is hurt by it. I'll just say, up front, that I love her and everything I wrote about her yesterday is true, but...
I had such a horrible day yesterday. Having to celebrate, even for my precious daughter, was painful beyond what I want to bear. Everywhere we went, everything we did, everything I am is ruined because Ian isn't here. I just want to wither away somewhere and move on to where he is. No, I don't want to die and be away from Keith and Lucy and Mikey, but I don't want to pretend that this is living either. I couldn't even pray to have fun yesterday or that we could all be happy because I don't want to move on--away from my son. Lucy's day was just like a day at the temple--it's supposed to be better and more joyful than other days and it's worse.
We went to San Francisco by way of our favorite donut shop in Oakland. Ian loved apple fritters. Keith and Lucy both got one. I'm sure, partly as a tribute to Ian. I took one bite of one and got sad. We drove through the Haight-Ashbury District with all the thrift stores and vintage shops and all I could think about was how much time Ian and I could spend going in and out of every store and finding the greatest stuff. We went to Pier 39 and into a chocolate store. They had Tabasco chocolates and I took a picture of them because it reminded me of when Ian was in charge of the combined activity at mutual and he did the Iron Chef. The secret ingredient was Tabasco. It was a great activity and he was so proud of it.
We saw a poster of an old beat up VW bus and I thought of him driving. Keith and I were sad to see the left-handed store was gone and I said, "We don't have a reason to go in it now anyway." As we were coming home, we saw somebody in a Jason Varitek jersey headed for the BART station to go to Oakland for the A's/Red Sox game. I cried in the car. I lied when Lucy asked, but I was crying for my son. She deserves a mom that's whole and I'm never going to be whole again. I don't want to have Easter or my birthday or Mother's Day. I never want to celebrate again. And worse, I don't want that to change. I don't want it to get easier. I don't want a callous to grow over the broken part of my heart. That's the Ian part. It's raw and inflamed and as long as I don't need to use it for anything--like feeling, I okay.
I still have a better life than most. I know that. I just know what it could be and isn't.
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