The CD that Aryanna usually listens to while falling asleep seems to have a scratch in it. (Imagine that) I have tried cleaning it and can't seem to keep it from skipping. So, I put A and P in bed then I went on the hunt to look for this other CD that I thought she might like to listen to. However I did not find it. I did however find another CD I have been looking for. So Bonus. While I was looking in the very crazy and disorganized CD/movie cabinet I cam across Pete's CD player that he used to listen to at his desk when he was at work. I ever so carefully opened it to see what CD was inside. The thought that occurred to me was "This is the CD that Pete listened to last before he got sick."
I so often find myself just wandering around my house just looking for something that he may have left for me to find. I just want to touch something of his that he touched before he passed. Like some clue, some gift that he never gave me or just something. I have this need to touch it. To sit with it and think to myself "what was he thinking about when he was listening to this CD" or " What was he working on". I try to remember what was the last shirt that he wore to work when he was healthy. What was that day like for him on his so called "Last day of work" I just keep thinking that if I keep looking and searching I will find something new that I missed. Like some part of him that he left for me. Something that will just fall from the sky that talks about our life together. Or notes, thoughts that he had. I know that I have his drawings and his notebook of what he planned to make. or pictures that he had drawn of designs for jewelry or art that he wanted to make. What feels different about that is that I remember him drawing those pictures in there. Why that seems different, I don't know but it does.
I was cleaning out one of his Model car cabinets and I came across the box of the camera he gave me on our wedding day. I opened it and inside was the manual, some extra cables and the note that he wrote to me when I opened the camera case. I held my breath and smiled. I didn't cry. I was happy and sad at the same time. But I was holding onto the note in my hand. This small piece of white paper and inside it was his hand writing of something he wrote to me with love. I wanted to hold it up to my face and smell it to see if I could smell that day. I wanted to hold it so close to my heart. I wanted to tape it to me so that I would never be away from that tiny piece of paper. To sleep with it, that little tiny piece of him. I never realized until just now how important that little tiny note is. Yes, I still have his clothes hanging in the closet but it doesn't seem to feel the same as that little piece of paper. I open the closet and it is comforting to have his clothes hanging there. I think it would feel so empty if they weren't there. I mean yes I would have more closet space. What woman doesn't need more closet space. :) But as I think about opening that door and looking in and not having those clothes to look at feels so empty inside. In someways I have gotten used to them being there that if they weren't there it would give me an anxious feeling inside. Even though those clothes don't smell like him anymore and I know he is not coming home to wear them. They need to be there for a little while longer.
I guess to me what seems so interesting is that the clothes are comforting but don't have the same affect as a note. He wore those shirts everyday. To work, to play golf, on date night. But they are just fabric. They don't hold his essence in them. It's like when I look at a piece of art work I stare at it in awe. that wall hanging, or that piece of jewelry that he made and shaped, was him. It was his idea. His hands that molded those pieces together. I look at the stained glass pieces that he started but didn't finish. and I want to hold those close. Because I know they have my influence in them. Yes, Pete loved horses but from an artistic standpoint. But he loved to make and draw horses because he knew how much I loved them. How much they brought me joy. It those things that I want to touch. Brush my hands across it, wishing I could be in Pete's mind to hear what he had wanted to do or why he added that color instead of another. As if holding that piece of glass I could absorb Pete. Through that art I could touch his hand again. Because it was his hand that touched it last.
I keep opening the same drawer in our room and sifting though it like "there has to be something in here, Something I missed." As if whatever "it" is is going to shed some light onto something. What I don't know. It's just a feeling. That I need it. I need to find it. Those last moments. Those last days before he went into the hospital. those last seconds before he crossed the threshold of our house never to step foot in it again. Something anything. I remember I rented some movies for him to watch in bed since he felt so terrible and was getting bored being by himself and just sitting around. One of them was Ghosts of Girlfriends Past. I remember the night he watched it, and I thought maybe I should go in there and sit with him while he watches it. But then I remembered that he didn't want me to be with him to keep me from getting "sick" plus I felt at that time I wouldn't have been able to get comfortable with him ( being big and prego and all) But now I wish I had. To sit and watch it with him. To hold his hand. A and P were in bed. It would have been nice to watch a movie just us. But I didn't, and now I can't. That movie was on HBO the other day and I flipped it on. It's a good movie by the way. I watched the last 20 minutes of it. After it was over I thought " I just watched the last movie Pete saw before he passed away" It seems like it is those moments or realizations that can make me go crazy, feel crazy. I mean who has thoughts like that. So final. Or Again the what if I would have just crawled into bed next to him and held his head. Laid my head on his chest, listened to his heart beating while we watch the movie on the laptop. What if? Would that short 90 minutes been enough to have gotten me "Sick" who knows. But I did what I did, I stayed away. I kept Chase Leo and I safe and Aryanna and Petey safe. We all thought he would just get better. But....
So in those Crazy last moments before he was sick. While he was healthy this is what I know. He listened to Tim McGraw and the Dancehall Doctors on his "disc-man" at work. (I know it sounds archaic.) He came home for the weekend. I have no idea what we did on that Friday night or Saturday. How insane is that. I know on Sunday evening when he said his stomach hurt he cleaned out the litter boxes. Then somewhere in the week he was home he watched that movie. Along with lots of TV. I guess I don't know what I am getting at here. I guess it's crazy the things you remember and the things you forget. The things you hold onto. and the things you don't. I still hope for my sanity there are still things, notes to find. stuff tangible items to hold onto to breathe in, so absorb into my whole being. As if he is telling me his story through the veil. Like a treasure hunt, thats just for me.
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