A Difficult Day at the Dealership

Warning: This was a hard blog to write. It may be harder to read. Just forwarning each of you. Also, it is emotional and not so well written. But I do want to look back on this one day, hopefully a day where I’m better than.

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Yesterday, we did something major as a family. My daughter bought a car. Car shopping is never a fun experience. There’s a lot of testing, sitting and waiting…waiting, sitting and testing. Once you decide to buy one, the waiting and sitting are even longer. We all know this. It’s not something most people like to do on a Saturday. Add into this less-than-wonderful experience my impatience, two glitches that exploded my head, and grieving hard because Peter was missing from this first family event, and well, it wasn’t the best day. In fact, it was a bad one. In fact, it was a horrible, no good one.  In fact, I went to bed by seven o’clock, just to end the day because of how awful it was for me.

The day started out with lots of possibilities. My daughter did her research. My son had bought a car a few months earlier so he was fresh from the scene. And I was just happy to be with my kids for the day.  I was proud to brag, I mean to tell, each and every salesperson we came across my children’s occupations. And even though Peter’s finite absence from our outing poked at my hearts like heartburn after a bowl of jalapeno peppers- uncomfortably and painfully – I pushed myself along, until I grew too tired to even try anymore.

I broke down twice yesterday. Once in the bathroom of the dealership, and once on the way home. Damn it! I know it’s okay to cry. Remember, I am a heart on my sleeve gal. And I know I have to feel my feels, but damn it, I just wanted to experience an emotionless, without grief, day.  I hate grief and all its intrusion. Hate it.

It’s a long story of what happened, and one I don’t particularly want to rehash. Not now. Suffice to say the day, the purchase, wasn’t easy. And there are still some things left to do which again, I won’t go into. And yes, I have to do it, part of the long story.  It doesn’t really matter. All that does it was a difficult day accentuated by two obstacles popping up, hurting when I slammed into them.

So, here’s my question.  Is it really too much to ask for easy once in a while? Since Peter’s death, I’ve been battling with insurance companies,  Peter’s human resource departments, credit card companies, utilities, and the list goes on and on. When I think, hmmm, maybe now I can get a little easy, or easier,  for a minute, take a breather, something else pops up, and I battle yet again. With my sparring partner and my fellow soldier gone from this earth, I’m exhausted.  Life has been brutally difficult, and I’m completely and utterly drained.  So drained, I go to bed before the TV shows even come on for the night.

I keep waiting for a tiny semblance of my life to return. Anything. But I got nothing. And I suppose nothing will show up because my life is different. When all is said and done, there won’t be anything left of the old life I had with a partner, a husband, a co-fighter.  Oh, I get glimpses. Then Life shuts them down in a just-kidding sort of way.

Life’s been cruel and unfair to me these past two months. Wasn’t anything I did, but boy did Life do it to me. I don’t want this. I don’t want to keep fighting everything, at every turn of every corner. I don’t want to keep reminding myself things can be worse; f – you to those thoughts because, damn it,  this is my worse. A worse I don’t want, nor never asked for – an existence without Peter.

But it is, my life, right now, and Option B doesn’t exist, so I battle. I live. I claw my way through it all with the hope, one day,  I will be be better than. One day, the grief will still be there – that will never leave – but it’ll live in me instead of defining me. One day, an unpleasant, unfun day spent at a car dealership will be on the same frustrating level as everyone else’s.  And one day, easy will come. Hell, I’ll take easIER.

Side Note: Peter, if you’re reading this, it’s been two months today without you. I hope you are at peace and looking after our kids. If you can, let me know about both. And, Peter, I’ve missed you every single minute of these past two months. Tell God, it all just sucks.