Weekend Warrior

It has been 27 days since Jim has been lost to us. I am still in a mode of 'waiting for him to call', but it becomes more real each day.

I am concerned about our dog Mercury. He has been more and more depressed as the days go on. I am not sure if he is picking it up from me or just not happy that Daddy's not home...and not home...and not home. He lays by the front door and just sighs. He won't sit up on the couch with me and the our other dog Tigger. He has had days when he hasn't eaten and it worries me.

I try to spend a couple hours on the couch or in the yard with the dogs just giving them one on one attention. They are our kids. So they need this to make things seem more normal. And to be honest, it helps me too.

The weekend had me emotionally moving in several directions. Saturday was fun because I went to the picnic of one of the clubs I belong to, to be with a group of people that I could relax with was nice. I guess I could relax a bit because this was my group, not OUR group. They knew Jim as my husband, but not really as a friend. They were concerned about how I was doing, and very caring, but also allowed me to have some space and laugh and wallow in the friendship that was there. Good people.

Then came today when I was tired and a little sunburned and cranky. It was Sunday and this is supposed to be 'our' day. Jim always made sure we had Sunday together. So I didn't like being here today. I had things around the house I had to do but doing them was just no fun and crying made them take a lot longer than they should.

Looking in the basement was a sort of sweet sour ordeal. My sister in law came over and we looked at some of the family heirlooms. Some fishing rods, fish netting, broken tennis rackets, 1975 wine and of course Peter Cottontail. This was just a first run through, who knows what is next. But these to me and to Jim represented his family, his father, his mother and his memories of home.

I am living in his house. It is in both are names, but it is his. He grew up here. I even know what corner he stood in when he was bad. His mother passed and he was able to buy the house from his siblings. He worked hard refinishing the place before we moved here. He used his weeks vacation from a job to refinish the kitchen. The kitchen had been original 1940's style and he brought it up to 2002 with new appliances and even cabinets and counters where there had been none. He did this all with no help and not much of a budget. It makes me proud of him to work in it. There are several other things that Jim alone did to improve the house. No, I guess it is in both our names and may not be worth much, but it is our home.

Well, anyway, the wine I was told vehemently to trash, along with the rods, netting and rackets. It was both amusing and sad. Now, Peter has a story. He is a very dusty ceramic rabbit that stands about 18 inches, has a broken ear and is holding a basket. Well, for several years for Easter, back in the 1950's or so, the kids didn't have their own Easter basket. Jim's mom would put the colored eggs in Peter's basket and the kids would get them from there. Jim being one of those kids.

We moved into the house and he found Peter back by the old furnace. He would not let Peter be tossed. He also didn't clean Peter up or even move him. He is still down there by the furnace. He can stay there for a little while yet, it's alright with me.