3 months

Today is Sept 22. Its been exactly three months since Duncan left us. Let me preface anything else I have to say with it is a shit fucking day. I mean, really, every day is pretty tough already, but to come to the "anniversary" of your husband's death on a monthly basis, is really beyond description.


I've had a lot of comments from a lot of really good people complimenting my writing and writing style and love the blog and all that, which I appreciate and love to hear, but let me tell you, no, let me promise you, this blog will not be one of those. Tonight is me having not intended on anything other than finishing a tax return and watching Buffy with the kids, but deciding today was too fucked to care and get all and every thought out of my system. It won't be eloquent, won't have flow, and sure as hell won't be anything other than life fucking sucks. And while I feel I should apologise, I also don't give a fuck. This is for me, not you.

UberEats


Its funny, really. After the past few months, I've seen UberEats as my "I have just enough energy to order and keep the kids alive" go-to when its supposed to be a novelty or treat. Its NoodleBox tonight. I didn't want to cook. But I do like the idea of keeping my kids alive since they're the only reason I do anything I do. Turns out two out of the three will eat NoodleBox. The other one has justified his preference not to eat with "Bonnie's dumplings were so good, I'm full". Works for me. I know how good Bonnie's food is.

Today - Part I


I probably should have started this blog with "today". But it's my blog and I'm at least 4 standard drinks of gin in (thank you to my friend that pointed out the difference between my drink size and standard drink size, you're never allowed back here).


Actually I'll start with last night.


Oscar has slept with me every night since Duncan passed away. He says he's scared to sleep alone. I get it. I actually like the company. Except when he is koala-like and next to me all little boy sweaty and taking up my space then gets the shits with me when I try to move him over. Or when he starts "smacking" the air looking for me and usually connects with the top of my head, just making sure I'm still there. Both those things are annoying when they happen, but laughable when you've had 4 standard drinks and think about how much you actually like your kids.


Anyway,


I've been trying to mentally get myself to start exercising again. Its been over six months since I've done any sort of physical activity, with the exception of walking the dog to school with the kids the odd time. I've been in my Lulus, trying to get into the mindset. I've been setting exercise clothes out the night before in case I wake up motivated. I even wear a sports bra to work because 1. I can't be fucked with a real one, and 2. to try to get myself in the athletic spirit.


Last night, laying in bed, I charged my wireless headphones, found my favourite at-home playlist, and opened up my "notes" app on my phone, deciding what exercises I'd do in the morning, if I was actually able to make myself do it. Oscar, of course being beside me in bed, looked at the list while I was writing it (I really only had squats and lunges written down) and he said "I'm proud of you, Mom". Fuck Osc. Talk about knowing how to bring Mom to tears.


So when I woke up this morning after having been awake multiple times throughout the night and having had multiple dreams about my beautiful husband that I miss with all my heart, I decided I couldn't be fucked going downstairs to exercise. Life can get fucked today. Its the three month anniversary of Duncan's death, and all and everyone can get stuffed.


Can I interject my own story for a second and have a look at the word "anniversary"? It generally has a positive overtone. Wedding anniversary, first date anniversary, anniversary of starting a new job. This is the definition of "anniversary":



I know I'm using it correctly but it doesn't feel right.

There has to be a better word that defines a repeated reminder of the worst day you could imagine happening.


Back to Oscar and exercise.


I was about to tell the world to fuck off completely, then I remembered how Oscar the night before had told me he was proud of me. He knew how much exercise means to me. He knew I hadn't been doing it. He knew I'd been unhappy. And he knew me writing down "squats and lunges" meant I was thinking about exercise. And he was proud. My 9 year old, proud of me, a 41 year old mom. How could I let him down?


So I went downstairs, set up my exercise mat, turned on my Imagine Dragons playlist (don't judge, they're so motivating!) and did my first exercise in over 6 months.


It fucking sucked. As in the weight I've put on and the muscle I've lost is so disappointing. But I feel I'm justified. The rest of you only have COVID as an excuse. Try to top me, I dare you.

Today - Part II


I went to work today. I shouldn't have. But I had already been a disappointment of an employee the previous Thursday and Friday when life got to be too much and I just didn't do anything. I like to think I did the right thing on Thursday when I was yelling at the kids for no fault of their own and I realised I wasn't going to be able to concentrate, so I let work know I wasn't going to that day. The next day however, when I started keen and somewhat confident the next morning, one of Duncan's friends posted the most lovely comments about him on Facebook. It brought me to tears and I ended up crying the rest of the morning.


Luckily I have a friend who likes gin as much as I do (more than I do, actually) and I had a drinking partner from about 2pm. Then Petra came by with her wonderful husband Robert for dinner and I had another duo who likes to drink too! Not my proudest Friday, but still not as bad as other adult nights I can remember (namely after Trivia Night and in Alex's car) (friend Alex, not daughter Alex).


Anyway, back to today.


I again didn't tell the kids that it was an "anniversary" day. They have enough sadness.


But it turns out Oscar wasn't the only one proud.


When Maxy woke up, he came into the kitchen and saw me in my exercise gear (not just every day clothes but actual work out clothes) and asked if I was going for a run (hahaha, the last time I ran was to Carol's to feed her chickens!). I said I had just exercised downstairs. The look of happiness and pride on his face was priceless. I would exercise everyday for the rest of my life if it meant I got to see it again.


"Really?"

"Yep!"

"That's awesome, Mom!"


They knew. People always say kids are so much more intuitive than we give them credit for. I know they are. But I still seem to underestimate it on a daily basis. Both boys know how much exercise and health means to me, and for them to notice how it was pushed to the side the past few months meant the world to me.


It also means I'll have to keep it up.

Today - Part III


I cried on the bus into the city today.


I don't mean for it to sound more than it was. I tend to nearly every time I go on the bus, especially in the evening on the way home. Don't get me wrong, I love going into work. I'm so lucky to have such a supportive and caring team. My boss, my co-workers, all of them, are just amazing. But my time on the bus gets to me. In the morning its about 1/2 hr to 40 mins, on the way home its about 45-50 mins, of me not being able to do anything other than think.


Let me tell you. When you're grieving, the last thing you want to do is "think".


Not normal things, like work, tax law and application (ok, maybe that's just for me) school fees, new shoes for the kids, camping on the weekend (and not forgetting the boys' clothes), everyday stuff is fine. But on the bus, when you stop thinking of the everyday, your mind wanders, and you think of everything you don't want to. Like the fact that 3 months ago your husband died. Or that four months ago he was still alive and there was still a part of you hoping he'd beat the fucking shit that he's had to deal with for so long but in your heart you knew he wouldn't, so you keep pumping him with morphine hoping he at least gets to spend his last days not feeling the pain you know he's feeling.


That's what happens when you have too much time to think on the bus.

Tonight


So I got through the day at work. Like I said, I love going in. If it wasn't for the demands of three kids on top of the constant void I feel, I'd go in more. But I can't So I got home, set up my computer, poured a drink, waited for Bon to bring the kids home (how gorgeous is she, taking them for the day) and started thinking about camping.


I had no intentions of writing anything at all. Like I said, I was going to have a drink and watch Buffy with the kids.


OK, so I've got Alex and Max into Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I dodge the sex references and manage to get by without too many questions. Thankfully Oscar is too scared of vampires and demons to watch, so he sits on the computer playing Minecraft while we watch (and then asks a million questions when he catches a 3 second glimpse). I do realise that Buffy gets scarier (and if I remember correctly has an episode where Spike violates Buffy - Brooke you can substantiate that comment for me) and I'll stop when its no longer suitable for my nearly 12 and nearly 11 year old. For the record, Alex currently has no favourite, Max loves Cordelia, and Oscar thinks Willow is pretty cool. Spike is still my favourite, despite his ill-intent. Must be the accent.


So now, its nearly 7pm, all kids have showered, NoodleBox has been devoured by all other than Oscar, I've finished my sixth or eighth standard drink (probably eighth since I have no idea) and all I want to do is sleep and have one night without dreaming about Duncan so I can wake up not thinking he should be in bed beside me.


In three months, it hasn't happened yet.


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