I watched the TV Amazon series, Transparent, beginning in January and one of the main characters was going through a divorce and coming undone. I remember watching and being envious. I wanted to come undone as awesomely as she was and get a pass on having to appear sane. I wanted to have a good wardrobe while doing it and not be stuck with my Target baggy, worn out striped PJ pants I wear so often. I wanted a set that could be a complete wreck but at the end of the day go home to a clean house with folded laundry. I wanted to be edgy like she was but I am not an actor and "play it safe" is really my character.
I have come undone in several ways and none even came close to looking sexy and cool like it did on TV. At Passover last spring, I completely lost my temper at Moses. Moses being my father-in-law who dressed up like him for the sedar. I have watched Good Luck Charlie with my son in my stripped PJ pants almost every night since Jay died. I think I have now seen every episode at least twice if not more. We know the show so well, we affectionaly call it Good Luck Chuck. It has somehow become oddly soothing to us.
I have written and shared and written and shared and written and shared and then written and shared some more. Every time I ask myself what I am doing but I keep doing it. I bought a puppy and then backing out of my driveway, I hit my puppy. When my mother-in-law could not find my son at school for five minutes last week and called me to see if I knew where he was, instead of being logical, I dove head first into worry.
The beauty in it all is how my world still welcomes me and my undone-ness. My father-in-law quickly forgave me. Good Luck Charlie continues to be in syndication and I still have my comfy stripped PJ pants. And people still continue to encourage me to write. Our puppy is as cute and healthy as ever and he sleeps with my son on most nights. My mother-in-law reminded me to remember 1+1 almost always equals 2.
I am sure I will continue to come undone for a bit but on some days, I feel myself coming together again. I cut up fruit last week and being the first time I have done this in months, it felt like a sign that life was a little more normal. We are now watching Good Luck Chuck at 9:30 instead of 11PM and all getting in our own beds at a more normal time. I ask for help more often. I have opened most of my mail, at least as of today. Settling into life again is scary because with it comes responsibility and the very real feeling now that this is my life.
I am not sure how my life will look yet and I still think of it as our life. A life that Jay and I built together and that surrounds me almost everywhere I go. I see it in our home, my kids and the people who love us. I hear it in songs he loved and I speak it in so many conversations I have that naturally loop around to some mention of Jay. I taste it every Sunday when we have dinner with my parents because Jay loved my mom's Sunday dinners. I smell it when my son wears his cologne. I feel Jay in moments I know he would not want to miss.
I am shown it when I am ordering the IPhone 7 for my son. I still can't understand why Simon has only had it since January but he is somehow the only one of us eligible for an upgrade. As I wind up the conversation about pre-ordering the phone in Jet Black the other night, I ask the woman helping us her name and she responds "Jaiye" pronounced "Jay." I asked her three times to make sure I heard her correctly.
Leave it to Jay who, when it came to technology always had the latest and greatest, to make sure his son ends up with an IPhone 7. Even though the next day I read that the Jet Black IPhone sold out in minutes and I ordered Simon his phone a couple hours after pre-orders began, he is getting it by October 5th when most, the article reported, are not getting until November. In the words Jay texted with a picture from our December trip to Miami with his feet propped up on a lounge chair and a view of Simon in the pool with the ocean in the background: "nuff said."
The song is Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros