JAX WORLD: BLOG 264

‘Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.’, Jalal ad-Dīn Muhammad Rumi

I honestly think he'd be laughing at me if he could see me trying to cope with life after him. He always was humorously irritated that I couldn't just go with societies conventions and wear what I am supposed to wear, cry when I am supposed cry and say what I'm supposed to say - when I was expected to.

I'm a little too organic for that, and as he often pointed out that was probably why I would often find myself in trouble.

I'm not really good at putting on the uniforms society expects us to wear for the many roles that are thrust upon us. I remember after having my son, looking around at the other mums and realising that my hair and wardrobe was out of step with theirs... so dashed off and got a 90's bob and some sensible casual wear... I lasted a week. I am still defiant that hair extensions, dangling earrings and high heels did not make me any worse a mother than they!

I'm even worse at behavioral expectations. I recall when I was on the young couple dinner party circuit, all people spoke about was the affects of building works. So my big opening was to discuss the merits of the St Pancras Eurostar renovation forcing the closure of the best nightclub in London. Of course what I should of known was that the social convention was to discuss how their new kitchen/bathroom/extension would have a glorious effect on the value of their house. But, I still think the loss of The Cross nightclub was a more worthy conversation!

It has often been said that Jax is always in time with the rhythm but she is marching to the beat of the drum in her own head.

Like right now I am supposed to be doing "the wallow".

I am supposed to be finding comfort in platitudes and playing sad songs.

Instead I am finding platitudes annoying and wishing that Keane and Adele just bucked their ideas up a bit and maybe slipped the glad rags on and went to the pub.

This doesn't say I'm not affected by recent events. I am. I really am.

If I were a cartoon character you could see quite clearly that I have been shot through the middle with a cannon ball. I'd bend forward and look through the hole, maybe I'd wave my arms through it to illustrate the gravity of the injury. It's take quite a few frames of the cartoon for my character to appreciate that I'm forever altered. But for the rest of the cartoon I'd continue doing what ever my character does... but with the great big whopping whole through me.

I'd go on. I'd adapt and go on. Because that's what happens in cartoons. The piano drops and then is lifted off our character who double blinks and walks away as flat as a pancake.

Yes, I know I am not in a cartoon... if I was my clothes would fit more like Jessica Rabbits do.

I know in real life something bad happens and there are social conventions tried and tested for centuries of how to go on afterwards. I know its only the 4th day of waking up to this reality. I guess maybe I am still in shock...or maybe just maybe this is another one of my character traits where I just can't do things the way society expects. But I woke up this Monday morning knowing I just can't let the phone call of the evening of December 5th be everything I am from hence forth. I guess in this, probably the most life altering thing thrown at me yet, I am just gonna have to find my own path.

I'm extremely fortunate with the people who are closest to me. I have not had one crappy platitude about deities plans, knowing how I feel, better places or instructions of what to do now.

Instead I have had distraction, and opportunities to talk if I want to, company if I need it or not if I don't.... and no one has suggested wardrobe alterations. The dangly earrings and silly shoes remain. At least in all of this I have not lost Jax.

I do feel hollow though. I am the cartoon character shot through with a cannon ball.

I suppose I shall have to find a way of wearing my alteration hence forth.

But I can't lose who I am in doing so.

I don't want to feel bad about being alive, of having days to fill, of having new experiences, or even old ones. I know that I laugh, I dance, I spend time (possibly too much time) on outwardly things like hair or makeup or clothes.

I don't want to wallow. I can't really find any comfort in listening to Keane reminding me that "This is the last time" or Adele warbling on about setting the rain on fire (did that girl EVER attend even the most basic science class I wonder)?

But - and here is the rub - I find no comfort in putting the experience behind me either.

I don't want to forget. I don't want to take on a new all absorbing project. I know only too well that moving on is easier said than done.

I think I'm gonna be a contrary pain in the ass for a long while yet.

Its only morning number four after all.

It's too soon to have any answers I guess.

What has changed dramatically has been my perspective on the things that I used to see as juggernauts of bad things. Suddenly the redundancies at work and the proposed forced sale of my home of 9 yrs seem not so all bad after all.

And it's back to work tomorrow. With all the kerfuffle about redundancies and stuff, it will be the best environment to place my bereaved self. Loss is loss and misery loves company. I can lose myself among those worried about their source of income, while gaining the benefit of a structured day with tasks to complete. Beats wandering about the house, watching the ghosts of things he and I used to do.

Actually that's another good thing... being forced to leave this house has turned into a blessing. It will be good to have a different set of streets to walk and fresh place to call home. He occupies every room here, even the garden and garage and worse still, there are plenty of things he started but didn't finish to remind me that he will not return.

Although on some level, Thursday nights news that I will be doing these things alone has not sunk in. I can't yet quite comprehend that he won't be able to be part of the process. But I am simultaneously very aware that the timing is quite good in that at work and at home it'll all be new.

It's so tiring having to explain what happened, I seem to be continually bringing friends, acquaintances and neighbours into the loop. It will be good not have to do that ….especially later down the line when the dust as settled and it's not fresh news as it still is right now.

I wonder when it'll stop hitting me as fresh news though?

For the past four mornings I wake up and don't remember that I live in the post Thursday 5th December world. Then it hits me.

BLAMM !!!

The cannon ball thorough my middle.

And like a cartoon character I look down at the hole. I wave my arms through it.... and I ask myself "Hey...how does going forward work from here?".

Then, clueless and stumbling forward... I get on with it.