When Things Get Back to Normal by M.T. Dohaney Page A
Authors: M.T. Dohaney
Tags: FAM014000
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away since New Yearâs Eve. The sun was shining through the open windows of my office, and in the halls I could hear people commenting on the glorious weather and saying that things were really shaping up for a beautiful weekend. I donât want a beautiful weekend. A beautiful weekend for what? To be alone? I hurriedly stuffed my briefcase with unfinished work and ran for home as thought the furies were chasing me.
I decided to sit on the back patio, but when I opened the storage doors to get a lawn chair and saw how you had packed away last summerâs furniture in anticipation of this summer, I closed the door quickly.
After a spurt of crying, I got into my jogging suit and spent the afternoon walking out my sadness.
People keep telling me Iâm strong. Iâm so sick of hearing, âBut Jean, youâre strong.â They say this as though hard knocks donât give me pain. I want to shout at them, âIâm not strong. Iâm weak. Iâm fragile. Iâm a pathetic creature. I hurt all over.â Maybe I should rent a billboard and have it say, âJean is not strong. She is a hundred-and-ten-pound weakling.â Actually, if I donât soon give up the comfort food, I may still be a weakling, but I certainly wonât be a hundred-and-ten-pounds.
MAY 12 â
Monday
Iâm dreaming regularly now â benign dreams. November 22 never happened. For the most part, the subject of the dreams is us when the children were small. Do these dreams mean my unconscious is still refusing to accept your death? Do they mean my mind has come out of its stupor and shock? Do they mean anything at all?
It is so difficult to have to spend day after day on the campus. I see you in all the old familiar places. Mostly I see you heading for the faculty club. I see you rushing(always rushing, your coat open, even in winter, and tie blowing over your shoulder) to join me for lunch.
I think I made significant progress this week. I finally was able to enter the faculty club. I have tried to do this on several occasions but always faltered at the bottom of the steps. My friend S. accompanied me and helped with the re-entry.
MAY 15 â
Thursday
More progress! I returned to driving today after a ten-year lapse. You always said I would rue the day I sat back and left the driving to you, but it had seemed so much easier to scrape the ice from one car instead of two, especially when we were both going the same route. After a while I lost my nerve.
My friend A. came with me on my maiden voyage. We went around and around the block. I felt positively exhilarated when I returned to the house. Nerve-racked, but exhilarated.
And still more progress! I can now wait until dark before rechecking the locks and doors and windows, and I donât have to put the upstairs hall light on until after dark.
But if I go ahead two steps, I go back one. My body aches for your physical presence. How I wish I could climb into bed and find your waiting arms.
MAY 16 â
Friday
Got the contract for my book today. I wish I felt like celebrating.
I fixed a strap on a purse this evening. Not much of an accomplishment, I suppose. But I finally realized you werenât going to return to fix it, and it wouldnât grow shorter of its own accord. I got out my tool kit â a fork, a butcher knife, a pair of scissors and your pliers that I found on the patio a couple of days ago, rust-covered from their hiatus in the snow.
People ask whether I find joy in these little accomplishments. I do feel some sense of gaining control, but Iâd feel a lot more joy if I could turn the job over to you.
MAY 17 â
Saturday
My housemate moved out this morning. She would have liked to stay longer, and I would have liked to have her stay, but I steeled myself and kept to our original agreement. Actually, we both knew we had to be on our own â each for different reasons. I could hear the still-ness in the house after she
I decided to sit on the back patio, but when I opened the storage doors to get a lawn chair and saw how you had packed away last summerâs furniture in anticipation of this summer, I closed the door quickly.
After a spurt of crying, I got into my jogging suit and spent the afternoon walking out my sadness.
People keep telling me Iâm strong. Iâm so sick of hearing, âBut Jean, youâre strong.â They say this as though hard knocks donât give me pain. I want to shout at them, âIâm not strong. Iâm weak. Iâm fragile. Iâm a pathetic creature. I hurt all over.â Maybe I should rent a billboard and have it say, âJean is not strong. She is a hundred-and-ten-pound weakling.â Actually, if I donât soon give up the comfort food, I may still be a weakling, but I certainly wonât be a hundred-and-ten-pounds.
MAY 12 â
Monday
Iâm dreaming regularly now â benign dreams. November 22 never happened. For the most part, the subject of the dreams is us when the children were small. Do these dreams mean my unconscious is still refusing to accept your death? Do they mean my mind has come out of its stupor and shock? Do they mean anything at all?
It is so difficult to have to spend day after day on the campus. I see you in all the old familiar places. Mostly I see you heading for the faculty club. I see you rushing(always rushing, your coat open, even in winter, and tie blowing over your shoulder) to join me for lunch.
I think I made significant progress this week. I finally was able to enter the faculty club. I have tried to do this on several occasions but always faltered at the bottom of the steps. My friend S. accompanied me and helped with the re-entry.
MAY 15 â
Thursday
More progress! I returned to driving today after a ten-year lapse. You always said I would rue the day I sat back and left the driving to you, but it had seemed so much easier to scrape the ice from one car instead of two, especially when we were both going the same route. After a while I lost my nerve.
My friend A. came with me on my maiden voyage. We went around and around the block. I felt positively exhilarated when I returned to the house. Nerve-racked, but exhilarated.
And still more progress! I can now wait until dark before rechecking the locks and doors and windows, and I donât have to put the upstairs hall light on until after dark.
But if I go ahead two steps, I go back one. My body aches for your physical presence. How I wish I could climb into bed and find your waiting arms.
MAY 16 â
Friday
Got the contract for my book today. I wish I felt like celebrating.
I fixed a strap on a purse this evening. Not much of an accomplishment, I suppose. But I finally realized you werenât going to return to fix it, and it wouldnât grow shorter of its own accord. I got out my tool kit â a fork, a butcher knife, a pair of scissors and your pliers that I found on the patio a couple of days ago, rust-covered from their hiatus in the snow.
People ask whether I find joy in these little accomplishments. I do feel some sense of gaining control, but Iâd feel a lot more joy if I could turn the job over to you.
MAY 17 â
Saturday
My housemate moved out this morning. She would have liked to stay longer, and I would have liked to have her stay, but I steeled myself and kept to our original agreement. Actually, we both knew we had to be on our own â each for different reasons. I could hear the still-ness in the house after she
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