Life goes on for the living; and there's work to do. Talking to myself.
- Insurance I keep doing so much better, I can go hours of living life almost normally. Then something silly happens and the sob monster clobbers me. I need to write an entry on the blog (some sting), of call on Melissa's phone; insurance is overdue, and I need to pay it. I just have to call them and explain Melissa has passed, and to contact me. Seems so easy, until the words start strangling me in my throat. With my brain going, "dude, hold it the fuck together".
I kinda want the 5 stages of grief to be over. But I don't know that I believe in it as a rule. It's more these are a pool of things you can feel, all at once, but not like this is the recipe and order. I skipped denial; and acceptance was easy. But it doesn't change that some of the others are still hanging around, along with their less well known buddies.
- New Habit One of Melissa's annoying little habits was talking to herself. (And then talking to me in the exact same tone of voice, and getting annoyed when I didn't recognize that the last 15 seconds of that 30 minute monologue was directed at me). She got it... and we'd laugh about it, or I'd tease her about it. Men talk 7,000 words a day, and Women generally talk 20,000 -- and Melissa was above average. So a good lot of the 13,000 excess was directed to herself or the universe. It's part of the reason, I had man-land or the bathroom. While I don't have the same spoken word debt per day that she carried, when alone in a house or car, I am overdrawing my account. So I've found a little cathartic release in just talking to her. Telling her how my day is going, what I'm thinking, hoping that she's happy, and calling her out for leaving me. Infrequently arguing at her inflexibility, or telling me I'm wrong. Surprisingly, I'm getting some benefit out of occasionally being able to win and argument, or get my whole thought out without being interrupted -- even if we both know it's just verbal masturbation.
- Parting Melissa Out So we're getting Melissa cremated... which begs the question about cremains. For now, like Laura Palmer, she's getting a nice decorative plastic bag (wrapped in a plastic box). (We used to do Twin Peaks / David Lynch parties, so I'm 100% sure she wouldn't mind). But we're also parting her out. She touched a lot of lives in life, and I expect to keep that tradition in death.
- Her Mom wants a tablespoon for a charm to keep with her : Melissa would love that
- Her OLDEST friend Debi wants a little for Día de los Muertos (that they celebrate): Melissa would love that too
- Melissa had talked about having some of her remains sprinkled on Newport beach (a place she loved as a child)
- Besides her Cyborg parts, I'm going to want a little piece of organic Melissa in a momento holder (if I'm going to talk to her/myself, I might as well have something I'm talking to, or something to hold on to when thinking of her)
- Melissa would certainly want some of her remains in her happy place (our backyard/lake)... and since Lake Houston is Houston's water supply, it means everyone eventually gets a taste of Melissa
- I was thinking of giving little party gifts with a little ash at the Memorial, but she wasn't that kind of girl
- Created a Celebration of Life (Poll) -- to allow people to pick potential dates for Melissa's Memorial, leave assets/commentary, or just give me contact info. This will hopefully give me scale on how big a venue to book, as well as nuggets to add. I can't edit this (having my brother and friends help)... if could philibuster congress giving testimonial praising Melissa -- the best person I knew.
- I cleaned the Tesla out. Both washed it, and removed Melissa's stuff. I have no idea where she squirreled her "key" (Card), since we both use the phone most of the time.
- Started doing mail. Melissa had her way of doing things including bills (don't touch her stuff)... thus I'd been keeping things in neat piles for when she got back. Since that's not going to happen, I'm not going to become the hoarder or ignorer that my mother was. (We pulled like 20-something trashbags of mail/paperwork out of her house a year and a half ago).