Dateline: The Aftermath (the last one in this series, I promise)

What happened to me next was not pretty.

At first I was going through the motions pretty well. But then I tried to take the van to donate his leftover medical supplies to a clinic and, again, the van wouldn't start. I called the shop and they said, "GREAT! We need to see it when it's not working. Call 'XX' towing." I just couldn't handle any more and asked them to call the towing service for me. When the towing service showed up they asked me if I needed the cigarettes out of the van. Um, no.

Then I called his best friend, the one he stayed with when he first came back to town about 14 years ago. His wife answered the phone. I asked if they were both able to get on the phone. I could just see her head quizzically cocked to the side as she hesitantly said, "Um......yeah.... justa sec." Once they were both on the phone I said, "I've got some bad news. Shine died."

I could almost hear their collective jaws hit the floor through the prolonged silence.

They hadn't even known he was sick. xebra and I kept thinking we would let everyone know once he was feeling better. That better never happened.

So, I went through the whole story with them because this caught them totally by surprise.

I also got very surprising phone calls. His little two line death notice came out in the paper and people who I didn't even think knew how to read called. And why were they reading the death notices anyway? I thanked them for their concern and promised to let them know if there was anything they could do.

The first two days were just business. I assume they call that shock.

Business included putting up that infamous notice on the Spotfans Unplugged board (one of the hardest things I ever had to write) and got just WONDERFUL responses. So warm and caring. I saved them and still read them every now and then. It makes me smile and it makes me cry. Probably because it reminds me what a wonderful person he was and what wonderful friends he had (has?) here.

Then I had to write his obituary for the newspaper. He had the tiny death notice, but I wanted the obituary, too. I didn't know I'd have to write it. I thought they wrote it for you. I also didn't know you had to pay, pay BIG BUCKS, to have it printed. I sat and wrote it out and the paper got rather wet as I wrote.

The car repair shop finally called back, said they found the problem with the van and it would be $600 to fix it.

"WHAT? I just paid you $200 to fix it and you said you did!" That's when I really lost it. "I don't need two fucking vehicles. My husband just died and I'm all by myself. Sell the goddamned thing if you can," I screamed at him through my tears and slammed down the phone. Poor garage guy. It wasn't his fault.

I had just finished assaulting the phone and the mechanic when my (non-bat-stabbing) friend from Topeka called. (I forget now how he found out.) I was barely able to talk to him. He got the Wrath of Safari, too.

Now I had become a non-functioning human being. I would walk into the house, look around at the emptiness and just collapse on the floor. I would scream his name and listen to it echo in the house. I decided I couldn't handle it by myself and found a counselor.

She suggested several things, one of which was physical exercise. I thought mowing the lawn would be a good source. Physical exercise and productive. Perfect. That day the lawn was looking a bit shaggy so I got out the lawn mower. I primed, I pulled, I tugged, I yanked, and pulled and tugged and swore and primed, ad infinitum. The damn thing wouldn't start. I just sat out on the driveway and cried. Right out in front of everyone in the neighborhood. I ended up finding someone I could pay to mow my lawn. Turns out I'm paying a woman about twice my age to mow my lawn. I'm so proud of myself.

Next it was time to go back to work. I drove down the highway and saw the backup of cars on the exit to work. Nope. Not gonna happen. The first day I turned around and came back home and, of course, collapsed on the floor crying. The second day I tried it again and got all the way into the office. About 10:00 am I couldn't take it anymore and again went home. I eventually got back to work and sometimes during the day I would instinctively pick up the phone to call xebra about something. I'd slowly hang it back up with a sigh.

I got cards from people who I had no idea knew that he had died. A lot of them were from people who had lost someone and they all told me, "Things will get better. It just takes time."

That became the line that I hated to hear. I wanted to find the solution. I couldn't go on like this! I had to be OK. I promised. I searched high and low. I went to a group meeting at a local hospice. I found a group at a local church of people who had lost their spouses (and damn, I couldn't find mine anywhere). I didn't last long there. I was the only one there without grandchildren.

I forgot to eat for a week. Here's a hint. Eat. You get VERY sick when you don't eat.

But you know what I decided?

Those first people were right. It does seem that time heals. Not totally of course, but I have become a functioning human being again. I'll never lose him in my heart, but it's not AS painful now. I don't know that anything changed it other than just time. I'm not the same person I was before but I do function. I remember having a chat with my team lead at work after I got back and told him, "I'm not the same person I was before. You can't stand there and hold the hand of someone as they take their last dying breath and come back the same person."

The reason I'm writing this is that I want everyone to know that if you go through a loss of any kind, death, divorce, separation, etc., and you experience any of this, you're not going crazy. What I've been told is that it's actually rather normal. (Oh God, I'm normal!) There are supposedly things to do to expedite the process but, as far as I can tell, none worked for me. They could work for you.

The bottom line, at least for me, was that dreaded: "It just takes time."

But like I said, he'll always have a place in my heart. Now instead of calling out, "Love you, Shine," as I leave the house, I call out to my dog, "Love you, Elliot."

And from somewhere I hear, "Love you, too, boss."

You know, he always called me boss.

P.S. to xebra - I'm OK. I promise.