the world and writing of a nyc writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Tag: sorrow (page 6 of 11)

where’s the other one. manhattan.

While I was walking Peanut through the Sunnyside industrial park my present abode is perched within, two local construction workers stopped me this morning. Separate instances. One query:

“Where’s the other one?”

I’m not the only one adjusting to Henry being gone. I think I’m getting better at pretending to not be bothered. My therapist seems to think I’m cruising along with recommendations of fortnightly visits.

Fine by me. Like I’ve been stating recently, it’s hard to care about anything without Henry. I’m glad to be checking in with the cult still. The insignificance of the rest minus Peanut is ineffable.

And tomorrow is Thanksgiving…

Also, I made the executive decision that I am leaving Queens. Queens would have been a good squatting spot for two puppies. Now it’s just depressing. I have an enormous house, with a fenced yard, which would have been great for two bouncing puppies. For just me and a little girl, not so much.

Well that didn’t last long blog family. I departed Manhattan for two months. Long enough by my standards. It’s my favorite place to hide. The intent of this page was always to be there anyways. I’ve enjoyed my time off the island as much as possible considering the hideous circumstances life slapped with me since.

Time to go back.

eight days later

It’s been eight days since I was forced to say goodbye to Henry. I don’t feel better. I actually feel worse. It’s amazing how much you can cut life down when life cuts what you care about most away.

This is post 1,001. I used to imagine what 1,000 posts would be. If anyone told me it would have been numb verses poured to dilute the anguish of losing Henry, I probably would have abandoned these parts months ago.

I’m not happy. I can’t make myself happy. I’ve gone through houses and husbands and jobs until the cows come home in these parts. I’ve never lost anything to this caliber and there will be very few times in life that I ever do. Very few do I hold so dear.

Sure, there is an unconditional requirement to bear a particular regard for life. But then there are those you love. Above and beyond any other. That’s what Henry is.

Eventually I’ll sell myself out to the whole “Time heals all wounds” thing. I don’t put any faith behind these words whatsoever, but I like to consider myself a mindless mammal – same as the rest.

I must also mention my poor Peanut in all of this mess. She’s only been in the country for two months. She doesn’t really know where she is. She doesn’t know where her brother is, although she can tell he won’t be back. And she isn’t thrilled staying home alone every day.

It’s not that I’m unaware sooner or later I’ll snap out it. It’s just the requirement to do so is such a startling slap of how shallow life really and truly can get.

gutting goodbye

gutting goodbye

24 hour tears. Fall
To a fatal force. Invisible
Collapse. Will subtracting
A feeling; No longer familiar.
Once, a love learned, stolen
And all I do is search.
To touch what will never again.
Be held. Like I held him close.

I cried a lot at work today. I’ve been saying that I have allergies. I wish it could be something so basic. I actually think I might be allergic to life. I understand death is an inevitable conclusion to existence on this planet.

I still want Henry back.

I listened to this all day. Happy Diwali.

 

 

box. bottle. back to work.

I’m going back to work today. I will wear a new dress, five inch stilettos and a fresh pair of nylons. When people ask me about Henry I’ll say things like, “It’s sad, sometimes these things happen,” and “Thank you for asking though…” I will sit at an enormous board table and talk in billions, pretend like my heart hasn’t finally permanently fractured.

Then I’ll probably duck into the bathroom to sob in increments I’m assuming will be in a rotating range of 30 to 45 minutes.

Over the past three days I walked Lily all over Queens. From Forest Hills to Astoria Park. We walked until my legs hurt. Yesterday we wandered for close to five hours.

A bottle of tequila and box of tissues later, needless to say, I don’t feel any better. At least I’ve gotten a lot of practice sucking back tears, because I’m trying not to break down in front of Peanut. It’s hard enough for her already.

Peanut has never been alone a single day of her life. Ever. Timothy will be at the house keeping her company today. It’s the best I can do to soften the blow.

My therapist pointed out that work is how I cope. Last year around this time, when I was reeling from divorce, I set my entire focus on landing a full-time Writer gig. In 2009, when my marriage was evidently dissolving, I put all my attention on getting to New York City.

I’m going to pick up some novels this week. I haven’t looked at them for some days. I need something to work on, somewhere to focus. Because when I look around, I still look for Henry.

Work, tissues, tequila. If anyone else knows any good coping mechanisms. I’m all (t)ears.

R.I.P Henry. Fuck you lymphoma.

Henry left Earth this morning. I picture him surrounded in gold light, somewhere far away with wings… in a place far superior to the lower vibrational land where you and I reside.

I know it’s cliche, but the ones that are left behind are always the ones that suffer indescribably. Like Peanut and I, for example.

While I have been attempting to drown my tears in tequila, it has yet to prove successful. Although, at the rate my tears are pouring, I’m hoping to drown in those soon. Naturally I would have to cry enough to drown Peanut as well so we could both go and catch up with Henry together. Timothy would also like to come along.

Unfortunately, I don’t foresee this happening. But considering the rate of my sobs, I haven’t completely out-ruled the idea yet.

All the days I spent thinking that Henry was having belly problems, I was completely undermining the issue. He had stage three lymphoma. That’s why he was vomiting every day, and looking sad… not eating, in the end. Stomach cancer was slowly taking over. The worst kind. The kind with no visible signs, no bumps saying “have me checked”… etc. Continue reading

Older posts Newer posts
Content Protected Using Blog Protector By: PcDrome.