When Things Get Back to Normal by M.T. Dohaney Page B

left. I sat on the stairs and allowed myself to cry for a little while, then I took a bath and went for a long walk.
MAY 19 –
Victoria Day Weekend
    Now I know why it is called a long weekend. It was interminable. Last night, alone in the house, I think I reached what the poets call the dark night of the soul. My loss seemed deeper, my future bleaker and my present almost intolerable. I asked myself over and over, “How do I keep going forward? How do I keep walking onwards with the pain of this festering wound?”
    I was furious with you all over again. Why did you have to play hockey when I was so adamant that you were too old for such strenuous exercise?
    And I was furious with your teammates who had encouraged you to keep playing. I hated them for saying I was henpecking you when I tried to talk you into quitting. I wanted to go to their homes and haul them out of their secure beds and shout at them, “Look at what you’ve done to me! Look at what you’ve done to him!”
    And, my God! How I envied their wives. They were home curled up safely beside their husbands. They weren’t wandering through an empty house clinging to sanity.
MAY 21 –
Wednesday
    I hosted a small luncheon today. The weekend was so terrible – so filled with despair and hate – that I knew I had to take drastic action to try and turn my life around.
    On Tuesday I called a few friends for a patio luncheon. Once I made that first call I couldn’t back out, even though I wanted to do just that. It was a lovely afternoon. I only had four guests – all women whose marriages are broken.
    Maybe next time I’ll stretch my guest list to include women whose lives are intact. Presently, it hurts too much to be around them.
    After I cleaned up the luncheon dishes, and while I was on an energy roll, I telephoned a diet centre and signed up for a program of sensible eating. I’m practically living on dairy products. My non-dairy meals usually consist of something from the fast food section of the grocery store: boil a bag, remove and heat, whip and chill or thaw and serve. Perhaps my irritability and my tiredness will go away if I can get back to sensible eating.
Graduation
    A very sad day. It is six months to the day since your death. I couldn’t walk in the academic procession, but I did torture myself by getting out our doctoral hoods and pressing them. For what reason, pray tell? Am I into self-flagellation or what?
    I was asked by a group of married friends to go with them to the alumni dance. I refused. It would be layering pain upon pain. Besides, I didn’t want to go to a dance andwait upon the generosity of other wives and upon the accommodation of other husbands. I’d get more pleasure out of going to aerobics classes, and you know how I hate structured exercise classes.
    My extreme sadness has put me in a mellow mood. I want to thank you for who I am. Without you, I never would have gone to university, written a novel or learned to play cribbage. I also want to thank you for fostering my self-confidence. And I forgive you for dying – at least I do at this moment. Tomorrow I may be back to, How could you do such a dastardly deed to me?
    Before the night is over I might even drum up enough magnanimity to thank God for loaning you to me. It was such a quality loan. But I know my mellow mood won’t extend to forgiving myself for not insisting that we take time to sit on the porch on lazy weekends instead of repairing or renovating the house. And for not using the percale sheets instead of keeping them for company. And for not telling you more often and more fervently how much I loved you. Like Richard II, I want to call back yesterday and bid time return.
MAY 24 –
Saturday
    I leave for the Learned Societies Conference in Winnipeg tomorrow. My trembling self is pretending to be one real cool lady.
MAY 31 –
Sunday
    The trip to the Learneds was an even worse mistake than the