I know that it is not fair to my many friends and family to say this, but I feel incredibly alone at times. There is a deep loneliness that can settle over me if I let it. It appears independent of being surrounded by people or having things to do. It is not a reflection on any one person or thing. Rather, it is a reflection on just how much is missing, how deep this goes. It is a reflection of the love and friendship I felt for my wife and the loss of direction, of purpose, I am processing now.
I spend my days trying to think of ways to outrun the loneliness, to somehow stay out of its sight, but in the end it is all encompassing and requires my full attention. If I don't deal with it, it is worse the next time it catches me. The loneliness is savage and does not give a shit about my plans. It always wins, for a time. My only defense is to acquiesce and know that it will eventually pass.
I requested a copy Melissa's medical report from the county last week. Knowing that the report was going to appear in the mail one of these days gave the loneliness the power to overtake me. Each day that the report did not arrive brought the anticipation that it would be included with the next day's deliveries. I built it up over and over again in my mind, thinking that it would provide us with some sort of meaning. I added fuel to the grief gaining on my back, and it finally caught up with me late Friday afternoon. A check of the mailbox, no report, and here comes the emptiness and exhaustion. I took a three hour nap to hide from my thoughts. Except you can't really hide from something that is inside your head. You can try to push aside for a while, but you have to deal with it at some point.
So I did what anyone would do, I went to Ikea and bought a workbench. Problem solved, right? Not so much. I had a good morning and a very nice lunch with friends. Things were looking ok until I decided to take another nap. I woke up to an empty house and a bright blue sky. At peace, but also alone in my thoughts of Melly and Matt, thinking what should have been instead of what is.
The medical report finally arrived today and was thrust into this vacuum. I had told myself that I would not read it, that I would get someone to translate for me. I told myself that no matter what it said I would not let it cut through me. I told myself not to expect answers, even though I desperately want and need them. I told myself that it was just paper, that it could not hurt me. I ultimately did what I told myself not to do. I read it, and I let the loneliness monster in.
The report amounts to four pages of trained doctors shrugging their shoulders and claiming that everything looked 'unremarkable'. She was healthy and happy, and then she wasn't. They don't know why anymore than I do. Which, frankly, is fucking bullshit. Things happen for reasons, and not because, in strictly medical terms, "shit happens". There is nothing unremarkable about the two brightest lights in my universe having dimmed.
We spend so much time asking the questions and looking for meaning. And why? Why must we feel the questions if we aren't meant to get the answers? Why must we keep running from these demons when they always manage to catch up? Why? Because we tell ourselves there is honor and purpose in the fight. Because it is more constructive to punch up than down, to rail against the machine. Because if we all have to answer for our lives, I expect to get some answers from the one asking the questions. Because there was absolutely nothing unremarkable about Melly or Matt. That's why.