Another girl, another blog

September 9, 2009, 12:41 pm
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We went to dinner the other night and as I looked at him enjoying the glass noodle chicken soup with hot sauce this thought came into my mind: “He eats so verouciously. He eats like he could not. He enjoys the spicy chilis and all the other things he could not. He eats the way he enjoys me–fully, carefully, without missing a beat, and pausing to enjoy the really good moments.”

I hate comparing my boyfriend to my dead husband. Sounds crass, but this is the truth of my life right now.

This past weekend, Labor Day weekend, Mike, Dodger and I went to Big Sur for a three-day camping experience. We had a blast and Dodger got to play in the Big Sur River and stayed close to the campfire at night. Sunday we drove to Monterey and spent the afternoon at a British pub at Fisherman’s Wharf, and had a lovely time walking around, people watching and just enjoying each other.

“He does the things that he could not do. He couldn’t have walked up the hill, much less suffered through sleeping on an air matress in a tent.”

Tonight I am taking Mike to his very first Dave Matthews Band concert (this will be my 10th or 11th time…can’t recall) at the Greek. We’re meeting my friend Heidi for Mexcian food and margaritas before we walk up the hill to enjoy the show in the warm, end-of-summer air.

“He hated going to concerts. The last one was awful, with the cane and the stopping. He had a wonderful time last weekend, dancing the whole three hour show, screaming his head off to the lyrics…”

Next month Mike and I are going to Vegas for a friend’s wedding. We’re driving out, hopefully in a convertable (depending on money and weather) and we’ll probably crash with some friends in a time-share.

“He couldn’t stand overnight trips with my friends. He always bitched and moaned about everything he could…he never saw the positive in the situation, never tried hard to have fun, unlike him. He can have a good time almost anywhere.”

In this stage of my grieving process, I’ve been taking off the rose-colored lenses and am remembering the shitty, awful times that Aaron and I had to deal with. It makes me feel guilty, because so often we’re taught to revere the dead, focus on the positive and the love. But if you think about it, that does a disservice to their memory because it’s not authentic.

I just really wish I could get through this without all of the comparison. It’s not fair to either love.