Trying

Friday evening, I went over to Marc’s for dinner and a lovely evening of conversation, laughter and getting to know each other. The night was quite fun. I arrived at 7:30 and left at 1:00. He cooked out on the grill, steak, couscous, grilled vegetables. Dinner was delicious. He even gift wrapped a bottle of A-1 for me, based on a conversation we had the last time we dined out in which I disclosed my severe addiction to the tangy, sweet sauce.

Earlier in the evening, Marc told me that I was welcome to stay if I didn’t feel like driving home. “I’m a good spooner.” he said. I knew instantly that I wasn’t staying. I just couldn’t. I thanked him for the offer but maintained that I needed to go home.

I was afraid of feeling his arm around me. I was afraid I would awaken in the middle of the night and feel tempted to pretend he was Chris lying next to me. I would have done that. I know myself very well.

He mentioned that he might have tickets to a ball game at Fenway the next day with Rochester playing Pawtucket. He wasn’t sure that he would get the tickets, but just in case, he wanted to invite me to come along. That was the start of my panic.

I was planning to visit a friend in Plymouth the next day but I didn’t know what time so I couldn’t commit to anything else. As it turned out, I was seeing her for dinner so I wasn’t able to get together with Marc the next day. I was glad. I was scared.

Everything seemed to snowball after that. I was painfully aware that I was avoiding calling him and also aware of the message I was unintentionally sending. I felt bad. Sunday morning, I wrote an e-mail to him explaining what happens in between dates with him. I described my grief in as comprehensive a way as I could. I told him that I needed to take things more slowly, blah blah blah.

While I was writing, I couldn’t stop crying. I fell apart. All I could think about was how much I loved Chris and didn’t want to leave him behind and all of the trauma that accompanied his deterioration and death and all of the pain and just how much it sucks that we’re no longer together. We will never be close again.

To make a long story short, he thought I didn’t want to see him anymore. We ended up getting in touch that evening and talked on the phone, me disclosing more about the way my grief attacks me and he listening and letting me know that he understands. Before the end of the night, we had ironed out the kinks.

Marc called me tonight to say hello and then asked me how I’m doing. He’s very sweet. We talked some more about what my grief is like for me. I shared. He shared. I’m beginning to think I may be brave enough to walk away from the silly notion that Chris is only temporarily gone.

How am I ever going to get along without my Creej?