So, it had reached a point where I was not expecting to see Joe at Target, or in a crowd, or plopped down on the couch watching a soccer game on the tv. I had even begun to silently congratulate myself on how well I was coping.

That was before I decided to make room in the closet which held Joe’s clothes, and I picked up Joe’s wallet. I was alone in the house, and thought, “why not get a start on going through some of Joe’s clothes?”  If you have ever had to clean out a closet of clothes of a loved one (perhaps a parent or spouse) you know it is extremely difficult.  For me, cleaning out his closet meant I was erasing a piece of him.  It was already an emotionally, and physically difficult task.  Why did I choose to pick up the wallet?  Good question!  I was reading an email from a man Joe had worked with and the email was filled with compliments on Joe. Reading it was great in the sense of remembering how special Joe was, and awful in the sense of remembering how special Joe was.

So, the wallet. I guess at that point I longed for some kind of physical contact of Joe.  I opened it, knowing I was not ready to touch the mementos of his life, and yet being unable to stop myself.  I stared at his drivers license; you know those pictures are generally not flattering, but that day, gazing into those eyes, the picture was beautiful.  Next, I looked through his receipts.  Remember, Joe traveled, and he had to keep proof of his meals, hotels, and various other expenses.  There was a fast food receipt; I chuckled and I cried.  See, Joe was so honest, even though he could eat at nicer places, he almost invariably chose fast food places in order to keep costs down for his employer.  I had tried to convince him (some might call it guilting him) to eat at better places, so he could eat healthier, but could not persuade him.  Holding that receipt after holding his license really brought me down emotionally. But I had those clothes awaiting me, and the kids were not home to watch and mourn, so I quietly replaced the receipt he would never need, folded his wallet, and turned towards the closet.

I pushed aside furniture to get to the closet so I could begin; the first item that caught my eye was a sport coat covered with light dust. Oh god; it was just too much!  It wasn’t the coat that broke me; it was the dust covering the coat.  See, Joe was a meticulous dresser, and there would never be a speck of dust on him (or any imperfection).  I ran to my room and fell on the bed, praying for God to take me too; I just couldn’t cope any longer; I was empty.  I broke down in tears and fell into some semblance of rest.

And then I woke up.  I just laid there, trying to absorb the knowledge I was still here.  Knowing God wanted me here did not make it much easier to get out of that bed and begin again the painful process of moving forward in life without Joe by my side.

Then, my nights were filled with dreams of Joe and I. We were usually separated and I was attempting to bring us together again. In one dream, I thought it was the kids keeping us apart and suggested they live with his parents. In another, he was alive and at home but we knew he had a medical condition that would kill him at anytime and I was pushing myself to find the answer.  In yet another, he was driving home on a curving, winding road, the darkness lit only by the pale beams of light from his headlights.  Spindly pines hugged the road, with dark and deep water waiting just below.  I saw his car suddenly careen off the road and into the water and I tried to find, and save him, all the while knowing I will be too late.

It was exhaustive.  I felt robbed and cheated; sleep had generally been my solace and release from daily stressors.  Now, it was just another device that plagued me, and brought yet more pain. I no longer wanted to sleep; I fought it.   And I tried to address it.  I told my doctor I was exhausted and needed to sleep.  He tried several prescriptions he thought might help me rest.  None worked.  These were strong medicines that should have quieted my brain and body. I think my whole self was focused on making sense of Joe’s death, to such a degree, there were no known medications powerful enough to shut down the process.  It would be two years before the dreams stopped and my rest was again sound.