Friday, July 28, 2006 - 4:38 pm

Exactly three weeks ago right now, I had my Michael back. We were joking and talking. I have never written on the blog exactly what it was we talked about in those few hours of lucidity. I will sometime. Not now. Suffice it to say that after I cried and told him how I had spent many of the past 4 months thinking he was going to die or that he was going to have to live in a nursing home - he reached out, touched my face and said, "Smoosher... I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

It's thundering.
It's been storming a lot lately. And while I don't believe that Mike is literally “up there” making the atmosphere all angry, I do find something magical in the power of thunder and lightning since his death.

I haven't felt the urge to write very much. I hate being alone with my own thoughts. Instead, I work work work on the show, the PR, the content, the logistics. I write thank you notes, organize finances, sell Mike's car and then… sit. And in the quiet is when I understand how much this sucks - and why the phrase is “stricken” by grief and not “drowning” in grief. Cause it's not here all the time. I'm not paralyzed by it day in and day out. It hits me out of nowhere and then I crumble and crumble until my neighbor Michele comes over and gets me laughing again.

I have had some terrible nightmares about Mike. Not what you would think. Not the graphic images from that last week that I'm trying so hard to work through… but weird stuff.

Two nights ago I dreamt that a female acquaintance of ours told me that just two days before Mike went into the hospital in March he had hit on her, kissed her, and then they made out passionately for an hour. The dream still bothers me. She told everyone we know that Mike had confided in her that he wasn't sure how happy he was with me. And in the dream, Mike had passed away. He was gone - and here was this woman turning upside down everything I am holding onto about my love with Michael. When I woke up I was angry and sad and it stayed with me through the morning.

After breakfast I told Mike's mom about the dream. Lonia immediately replied, “Well, that makes sense. You feel like he betrayed you. By leaving you he betrayed you.”

And that's it. He left me. Not the same way that most other 30-year old women would use the phrase. But, in essence, he did leave me. And I do feel betrayed. Maybe not by Mike, per se, but just a little bit in general.

Wise woman that mother-in-law of mine.

She left for Cleveland this morning. I miss her already. Yesterday she and I had lunch at a diner, shopped a bit and then sat in the playroom as Teresa, my cleaning lady, finished tidying upstairs. We sat on opposite plum colored couches and slowly - out of nowhere - we both fell apart. We didn't speak, we just cried on and off and looked out the window into the sweltering hot backyard.

This may seem like a weird thought to have and to share, but I feel strongly that I could re-partner - or do some other major thing - very quickly. My partnership with Mike was so completing that not having it - and not even having a remote promise of it - leaves me restless and empty. I spent many years of my life feeling restless, writing in journals about how I was restless, writing songs for the guitar about how I was restless. And all that stopped when I met Michael. No journals, no songs, no time spent looking off into nowhere contemplating life. Instead, I spent seven solid years just living. Happily living. I don't think I'm going to revert back to that super-restless person… the thought of it is just a big drag. But I do think that to stay living in the moment and hopeful about the future, I'll need to - I don't know - do something. Start something big, Do something important, Run for office. That's always been a fascination of mine, actually. I let many a joint pass me by at parties throughout high school and college because I was determined to “run for office” someday.

That reminds me - a friend joked on one particularly stressful day at the hospital a couple of weeks ago that, 'didn't I wish that I had a joint to smoke.' I was like, “Are you crazy? The last thing I need right now is to a) be paranoid and b) have time stand still…. So, no.”

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