I bought a journal specifically to be used as my “grief journal” after Jeremy passed. On the cover it reads “The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears” It began to mock me.
Regardless, I wrote in it on numerous hopeless nights. My feelings sprawled openly and desperately in this book looking for some release. I found none. I tore them out unable to look at them. Fearful of someone reading it. The serrated edges of the paper torn away from this journal remind me of my heart. Maybe it says more. Where I was then is not where I am now. So today I picked it up again with my ball point pen and now I’m transferring it virtually word by word.
Tuesday February 24, 2015
Today I took a bath for the first time since Jeremy passed. That’s 4 years 7 months and 4 weeks without a bath. Don’t worry folks I have showered since then. It’s just every time I ran the water for a bath in particular, I’d think how relaxing it would be. And then I’d stop and let the water go down the drain. Again and again. I couldn’t because it reminded me of him. Overwhelmingly. All I could think about was how loving he was. How relaxed I felt to just be myself with him and enjoy the stillness of the moment. When he was alive as we departed for our daily duties until meeting again, he left me feeling rejuvenated with an extra spring in my step. Much like the feelings a nice warm relaxing bath can produce. He always reminded me to take a bath. Not like a “Honey you stink take a bath” although, maybe, sometimes. *wink wink*
He’d say “Baby let me run you a hot bath.” And he would. He just understood and equally lovingly accepted that I was tightly wound, the type of person who never stopped going and always had my guard up. He knew this was my learned method of self preservation. Maybe the only way I knew how. Instinctively he knew I needed to relax and be taken away from myself and my worries and thoughts like I needed air. Not necessarily a distraction but just peace, stillness, comfort. He reminded me to require this for myself often. He wanted that for me, whole heartedly. Now he’s gone and I forget, or either it hurts too much, or whatever. I’m sure there is a name for this type of avoidance that a licensed psychologist could give me with a definition matching my description about not taking a bath for 4 years. Right? Surely. So as weird and or crazy as this may be to any of you who happen to read this, (ahem, everybody’s hand goes up. crazy…)
This taking a bath thing it’s simple. Really, it is. It’s just that’s what sometimes I think we miss about the people we loved that are no longer with us the most. The silly things. The unspoken. The quiet things that no one really cares about besides just you and that person. Those things… They last forever.
And I couldn’t help but humorously pat myself on the back with a slight tear in my eye. Cheers self, here’s to taking baths again!
Kaitlin Fine Proud Military Widow of SPC Jeremy Charles Fine