Exhausting Part 1.5

I'm too f'in exhausted to find a decent photo to add

This is a repost from January

Wow. Almost a year ago.

I'm still too exhausted to think.

Not sure how I'll get through tomorrow.

But there are three things I do know, that I didn't know last January

1. That I will get through tomorrow.

2. That this is grief. Friday would have been our 16 yr anniversary.

3. Exhaustion and grief are the most excellent bed fellows. Can't fight them just allow it to be. They will eventually go away.

For that I am grateful.

-----

I am standing,

sobbing,

in the parking lot of Costco

in the arms of

a strange man.

The parking lot of Costco, my cart next to me.

I am unable to find my car.

It's not my car, it's the one I'm borrowing.

Because the one I own is broken and I don't have the energy or where-with-all to make a decision about it.

And when I left the doorway of Costco, striding like a woman who knows

EXACTLY where she is going, I remembered what it looked like.

But as I neared the row, I forgot where I parked.

"This is stupid." I say out loud.

My strides begin to shorten, then they falter and I can't find the car.

And then I can't remember what car I am looking for.

Is the mini-van? No that's at home.

Whose car is it? What does it look like?

And out of NO WHERE....I am sobbing.

I can't find my stupid car cause I can't remember what it looks like.

Is this grief or am I losing it?

Shit where is the car?

Why am I so hysterical about not being able to find the car?

And then I stop, attempt to gather myself (which means I am telling myself to fucking knock it off, get a grip and calm the hell down.)

"Are you OK?" says a gentle voice.

There is a man standing next to me. And just like in the movies, I look down and shake my head.

And then I start to laugh AND cry AND sob.

"I can't find my car. I can't, I can't, I can't remember what I'm dri ving. My husband died almost 9 months ago and I, I, I really hope this is the grieeeef."

And then he looks at me and says,

"My wife died 5 year ago." he says "It's the grief." He smiles.

And then I swear to God,

I'm hugging this guy, and crying in his shoulder and with his arms around me. He doesn't shush me. He tells me about the time he landed at LAX, 8 months after his wife died, not even sure he was at the right airport.

And now I'm pulling away and laughing and then BINGO I remember what car I'm supposed to look for and

I

SEE

IT.

We smile at each other. I give him one last hug and we whisper a thank you to each other at the same time because it's our secret. He knows what he did for me. He knows the gift he bestowed on me and he is grateful I willing said yes. And I guess I gave something to him.

He smiles and waves one last time before he turns towards the store.