Lonely Night

Last night was the first night since John died that the twins and I were alone in the house. My dad is here, but he's staying at a B&B up the road, so once he left around 9:00 p.m., the twins and I were on our own for the night.

Part of me was relieved to get some time to myself. It's been in short supply lately. I've found it hard to balance my desire to get some alone with a craving for the comfort of friends and family.

Being alone in the house really made me feel John's absence, though. I was lounging around on the couch, watching American Idol, wishing I could cozy up to John while I watched. Of course, it didn't help that it was the special Idol Gives Back with lots of sad footage about starving kids in Africa and poor kids in the U.S. Since becoming a mother, I am especially sensitive to the suffering of children, and since John's death, I'm just especially sensitive. There were some tears shed, which is not a bad thing, but not enjoyable, either.

I was very tired from having taken my mom to the airport so early, but I didn't sleep all that well. I fell asleep easily and hard, before I could even finish a conversation I started with John. But then I woke up at 1:00 a.m. for no real reason, and after that I felt like I only slept lightly, a sleep filled with dreams that I no longer remember. I looked for John when I woke up at 1:00, and while I wasn't exactly surprised not to see him in bed next to me, I was harshly lonely for his presence.

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The bureaucracy of death continues. I've contacted all of John's various retirement accounts now, although for one of them I've hit a wall. The rep I talked to said that I needed to contact John's employer re: what to do as the employer maintained the beneficiary information. I'm not even sure who John worked for at the time that he set up this account; the account is an old 403(b) from some job John had right out of grad school, before I even knew him. I might call the fundholder back and talk to someone else to see if I can get a different answer. Not today, though. I'm done with the death calls today.

I had planned to call a charity about donating John's car today. We both hated his car. It had endless mechanical problems and was a gas hog. When I looked up the number to call the charity, though, I got a sudden pang. Dealing with the retirement accounts is largely intangible. Getting rid of John's car, despised as it was, is such an obvious symbol that he is gone, never to return. I hate that damn car and yet suddenly it seems hard to let go. I'll give myself some time on that one.