Monday, August 03, 2009

August, 3, 2009 -- Old Friends

I visit with pre-Art friends.

Friends from high school. I have breakfast with my oldest friend in the world, Teri P. (We've known each other since second grade). I see another old high school friend; stop by the house of another. I feel grounded, remembering a life before Art.

We gab about people he didn't know, guys I slept with, guys our friend's slept with and it feels easy and funny and not embarrassing at all.

And I come back to the hotel room, feeling tight and strange, questioning his existence. It's like Art was a hiccup. And standing here, in a hotel we never stayed at, in a bed we never made-love in, with children he will never see grow, his existence is hard to grasp.

Until I try to sleep...


  1. OMG, now I understand why I have this strong need to see my old school-friends ... you've made it clear to me.

    Sometimes I feel as though if I am not crying and snotty, that I am not missing him enough. Ridiculous. Why does grief make us torture ourselves like this.

    Hope you got some sleep ...

  2. one of my favorite blog writers--a mom of preschool twins who lost her husband to cancer--tackles a similar theme. Can't remember if I've pointed you her way before, but Stacey ("Snickollet") has been a real support to me in learning to adjust to life after loss.

    Love, Genie

  3. My daughter asked me "Hey Mom Some gorgeous woman came looking for you. She said she was an old friend. Her name is Kim. Who was she Mom she is freakin' beautiful." I puffed up my chest a proud old friend and said, "That was Kim Hamer." Now, after reading your blog, you are more than that... you are a woman being transformed. Peace and love, Amy