Oh, not much of one because of lovely coffee dates, a mani/pedi with my friend Marie, a birthday party and lots of tool sales. (even more after the last time I posted) Who knew that a bucket of C clamps would be worth $100 when a table saw only garnered $140? My husband would have laughed at me over my ignorance. I miss the way he would raise his eyebrows and purse his lips, sometimes saying, "Are you stupid?" He didn't mean it unkindly and the comment was always sarcastic, but I AM feeling stupid these days. I'm struggling with people's platitudes about death and treasuring the loved ones memory when I express my sadness about getting rid of said tools and vehicles. Do they really not realize that we are all associated with our special possessions and that the loss of what meant so much to him is of course painful to me? As Patt would say, "Are you stupid?" I will never smell Brut again without thinking of him. I'll get a lump in my throat when I see a Chevy HiCube van with locking side boxes driving by(d*mn Summit Water!) It's still difficult for me to sit in his recliner or stretch over onto his side of the bed. I understand that people mean well, but they can't tell me how to feel or not feel. It was indeed serendipity that the man who bought my husband's beloved Jeep was a cancer survivor from the same cancer clinic(different oncologist) who shared my husband's radiation doctor. And his mom died of lung cancer, after 31 days which I guess should make me THANKFUL that Patt lasted 2 years. I really, really am grateful for all our memories of trips, bowling outings and game nights, but it doesn't make me miss my husband any less or feel happy about getting rid of his *things.*
In fact, I cried when I saw his CJ-7 disappearing down the road on a flat bed tow truck. Ashley and Alison both tried to learn how to drive it. Ashley came back crying and shared this memory in her journal, "There were also the times that he tried to teach me how to drive his Jeep. The first time I stalled it miserably and repeatedly, until he finally reached into the back seat,put on a helmet,and said, "Ok, I'm ready." :) Alison was just terrified with her eyes as big as saucers. The Jeep became a well-loved family joke.
Then there's the memory of my happiness hearing this engine coming down our cul-de-sac every night and watching him expertly backing it into its spot. I would feel a lightness in my heart that he was home and that the evening could start: chatting, doing the Super Quizzes from the paper, eating, venting, sharing and spending our time together. It will be heartwrenching to see it go because, although it is just a van, it represents who he was and what he loved most. (besides me and our girls of course!) You see that even a wee rant can last a while. ;)