I'm watching Leto sitting across the room on the rocking chair getting quite angry at his tail for being attached to his butt and not complying with his cleaning demands.
Earlier this morning he tackled his sister and held her down while he groomed her head.
They've been needy and clingy lately. I don't like going out for too long of a period not just for my foot, but because I worry it is a stress for them.
Leto is getting better about not just waiting and crying by the door, but he is doing a lot of the things he did with Wash, with me now. Including trying to sleep on me. Which, is a new thing.
Aelphie usually sleeps by my feet or head. Her choice. Leto always prefers the feet/legs (which was cause for concern the other day when I woke to a terribly sore foot quite probably from a 15 lb cat sleeping all night on me) so every so often in the night there is a tussle; I've been getting better sleep in the Library/2nd room but it's a twin bed, not the Queen sized that is in our/(my?) bedroom. Plenty of room for both kitties on the Queen.
On the Twin, with me? Not so much.
We're all adjusting.
I'm doing a bit better mood wise, more stable with the anti-depressants and mood stabilizers. I'm ok taking some "heavy stuff" now that I'm no longer looking after another person, and with my broken right foot, it'll be months still before I'm driving anywhere (sadly, honestly, at least two. More if I need PT since the right side is the one with the bad ACL. I would not be safe behind the wheel. Not to mention my mental distractions...) which is good in that I'm pretty drowsy on it (though, perhaps that is just the exhaustion finally overcoming things and setting in to make me rest) and staying indoors means I can do very little damage or harm.
My Chanter arrived and I've just been trying to re-learn how to breath and play a reed instrument, and get my lungs in a better position. The asthma meds I've been on all summer have really worked, and I finally do feel like I've started to get some breath back in me. In a literal and figurative sense, I guess.
Nights are still the hardest. Sleeping in the big bed without him... I did do it for years before he came along, true, but I had very much gotten used to sleeping next to someone, next to him.
His breathing patterns. His touch. His smell.
For the first few days it gave me comfort to sleep where I could still smell him on the pillow. Now, I'm still not ready to wash/toss our old sheet set/his pillows (several people have offered to get me new pillows and linens. I will take them up on it when I am ready) but, I get a better sleep in the other room; where I can smell books instead of just... him, I suppose?
I've had a lovely show of support in the last bit; it's impossible for me to conceive of the idea that is has almost been two weeks now without him. Thank you for sharing kind words with me, stories, and your own encouragement. I've read them all; most two or three times.
Time has become a new concept to me. The timing of everything. Time that seems to stretch on for so long now. Time, which had been like long taffy being pulled, suddenly cut into a tiny square, gone all too fast.
3 years gone in the blink of an eye. 4 years gone after a night's sleep for a few seconds when I woke the other morning. The disconnect. What is real, what is not? Seeing his death legally laid out; pretty clear. Seeing his body; again, pretty clear.
In the TARDIS though, now... it's changed. What to do with all this time? Time promised to him.
I feel quite lost and scared most of the time. Today it hurts especially hard, even with the help of the meds, because I am seeing the foot specialist. Though it is a rare option, surgery is still on the table as a possible option for my foot at this point, and that terrifies me, even more than remembering every bad moment with Wash's tumor.
I wish he was here. I wish he was making his pun jokes, and doing what he could to distract me. I miss the level of comfort he gave to me on a level across the board. He was like a warm blanket on a cold night, but as a person, he just radiated comfort and love. At least, to me.
At the same time that I am starting to move forward in some small ways; getting rid of his death shroud, working on the memorial, finding new hobbies, trying to do things that don't involve making my feet worse, I am starting to have guilty feelings for not just ... sobbing?
I know this is the start of "Survivor Guilt" and I'm hoping my shitty insurance will get me in to see someone sooner than 8 weeks from now. I try to use a little trick from my CBT days to identify those specific guilt thoughts and let them go. Because Wash would most truly not have wanted me to be suffering (well, extra) right now. Not at my own making.
I am not Queen Victoria. [sadly. In this life]
I did not have 12 children with the man I loved. Or get almost 20 years together.
But I also am 25. I cannot lay out his clothes every day. I cannot lay out a place setting for him every day, and eventually, I will need to clean up his desk to make it more usable for my own self. I will pass on some of his books as he wanted, so others can read and enjoy them.
However, I have noticed I feel more comfortable carrying or wearing something with a TARDIS on it if I leave the house. I am not sure how "good" or "bad" or anything that really is.
It's hard still, to live hour by hour. But I do strive for that next hour to come, and I'm trying to rest enough to find myself and figure out what it is I will do now with my time.
It may be 60 years now before I go. That to me, in this moment, seems a far too long of a time to remain depressed and waiting for Death.
I do not fear Death (I don't think Wash did in the end either) but, I want to find reasons to keep living. I want to have a purpose again.
It's just hard to figure that part out when my heart cries so loud it drowns out my brain.