Floating, Sinking and Bobbing

Today didn't suck en total. It was my first day back to work with the soiree just a jumble of warm and loving memories. That part feels good, right and fitting. But getting back into what used to be my old schedule feels...meaningless. Ken provided meaning, support and context in my life. I had a moment at work today where I thought to text him to check on him--as we always did. That a slow burn, realizing he wasn't there t receive them. Investing in someone so completely is one of the keys to a successful relationship. But what am I supposed to do now? Half of me has been forcibly ripped away. No more yin to my yang.

I guess what I've struggled with today is something I'll struggle with for a long time. What is my purpose now? Loving him and sharing a life was purposeful--supremely so, but then becoming his full-time 24/7 caregiver was a purpose I never anticipated, and one that wasn't easy on any level, but it was such an important purpose. It was the most important purpose I'd ever embarked upon. Making him comfortable. Engaging him in coversations. Cooking for him. Soothing him. And loving him.

I feel the empty in my life growing. Along with it the paralyzing feeling I mentioned in my last blog. I don't have any momentum to propel me forward. Inertia is my enemy, and I'm not sure I'm equipped to combat it. I've walked around the apartment in a daze, asking aloud "where are you?" How can a person filled with life and vivacity just suddenly not be there anymore? Obviously, I know it can happen, but it can be a real bitch to reconcile. Where did all the love we had for each other go? Is it like energy, which can't be lessened in quantity. If that's so, where is it? Is it around me, and I'm just too mired in grief and confusion to see it? Even as I write this, I know the love is still there. I have felt it--even from within the memories I cradle gently in my head. But it's not coming from where it used to come from.

Ken and I had grown into a one-stop-shop communication hub. We talked about everything good, bad and ugly. Along the way he became my very best friend and champion. Everyone should have a champion. Now I have none. It's not inconceivable that I will once again become my own champion and probably fulfill some of the needs I have that I got from Ken, but that hardly seems as interesting as sharing those experiences with another person outside yourself who knows you better than you know yourself.

Today ran the gammut. I floated. I sunk. I bobbed. Like a flotation device swirling freely in the current. I don't have any answers, and I suppose I don't need to. I'm told they'll come to me in time. I wish they could come from him. And I wish he could brush his hand on my cheek. And I wish I could hear his laugh and see that trillion dollar smile person-to-person. I don't believe ghosts but in this case, I'm perfectly willing to be haunted (in case anyone non-corporeal is reading this.)

But aside from my ridiculous fantasies of seeing him--truly him--again, the substitute will entail a lot of work for me. Looking inside and digging out the meaning and purpose of my life--a life I never asked for or wanted; not this way. They say time heals all wounds. And from my limited experience I know it to be true. But if anyone has a time machine I could borrow, let me know. I could use to travel forward two years or five years and have this aftermath well behind me.

Or, more likely, I'd travel back to March 23, 2001 to meet Ken all over again.