Oh I miss my Capt. Oh how thankful I am he has been released from the suffering he endured. I'm lonely, interested in what the future holds, happy for him that he is healed and whole, resentful that there are so many plans that won't happen, enjoying not needing to get a consensus on daily stuff like where/what. And confused because I am so mixed.
- a powerful whirlpool in the sea or a river.
- a situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil."the train station was a maelstrom of crowds"
2 Timothy 1:7 For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
And I miss him so much. His big, loud, sometimes overwhelming presence. His strong opinions and loving, generous ways. His spontaneity...
I've been accused of being as spontaneous as a long-distance adoption. He could change plans and go 90 degrees on an instant whim. Initially that was disconcerting but it became fun once I realized the world wasn't going to collapse if we dropped everything on Friday afternoon and went to the beach with nothing packed but a couple of towels and a clean pair of shorts. "We'll get snacks there. It'll be fine! Relax!"
Buying groceries a couple of days ago, I realized I'd never bought for just one person before. Ever. EVER. There has always been someone else to consider. Parents, a spouse, children. This time, it was...strange. Liberating. Confusing. I didn't even know how to do it, really. I wound up getting a cornish hen and some frozen meals. It felt like a cop-out.
On the other hand, I am enjoying, in a weird way, being the one who decides when to go to bed and when to get up. I am NOT liking having no one but the dog with whom to discuss the day's plans. I AM enjoying being able to do what I want without the limitations of caring for someone who's so ill he can't do all the things we did in previous years. I DO feel tremendous guilt about that. I feel like I'm saying that I'm glad he's gone.
He had been ill for 9 months+. Gradually sinking, gradually becoming more and more depressed. Convinced he was dying. "It's just a season!" I'd say. "We'll get past this, you will get back to teaching and we'll get that fishing charter business to going and this will be an unpleasant memory! I'm sure of it!" Well, I guess we did. Just not the way I'd meant. I kind of feel a little...I don't know...silly. Naive. I truly honestly believed that right up to the day the doctors told me they couldn't do anything more for him. He'd heal, we'd go to the beach, life would go on as we'd planned. Silly me.
Like I said, mixed emotions. A veritable maelstrom of them. Constantly. Fear that I'm dishonoring him, Gratitude that he's healed and whole. Excitement about the future. And trepidation. Loneliness. Relief. Pick a feeling, there it is.
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