John drove an 18-wheeler for a living. We actually got to team drive together for about 2 1/2 years. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times".
The day after he died, I called his company to let them know what happened. They cleaned his truck out that day. I thought that was too quick, but, it wasn't my truck, so, whatever. There was absolutely no way I could go get John's stuff, at that time. No problem, they said.
Two months later, I thought I was ready to get his things. I had been running around the country, visiting family, running away basically. I felt closer to John when I was on the interstates with the big trucks. I wished I had his CB to just listen to the truckers talk. Maybe chat with some of them. I also wanted his trucker's maps. And there was one little piece of paper, a little score card we kept in the truck for months. I wanted that little piece of paper.
I mentally prepared myself to go get it. It was very hard calling Tim (the dispatcher). I felt physically sick to my stomach driving to the yard. I kept telling myself "Don't cry. Don't cry. John would hate that. Don't cry!!!!!"
(Ouch, telling this story, hurts. Hurts big.)
Anyway, I walk to the receptionist and ask for Tim. I stand against the wall, trying to be invisible. Don't look at me. Don't talk to me. Act like you don't even see me. I didn't even see the boxes sitting there. Tim comes out, and says "The boxes are here. I'll help you carry them out." He grabs one box, and I grab one box, and burst into tears. Loud crying. Not the silent tears. The loud sobbing. I say "I'm sorry, I thought I was ready for this." I cannot go back into that building. All I can do is stand by my truck and cry. Three ladies come out to help. They were very nice and helpful. They helped calm me down. Good women.
When I got home, I just put the boxes in Jes' room. I couldn't really look at them. I would try to look, then quickly turn my head. The boxes are still sitting there because I left town again a couple of days later. That was almost two months ago. I haven't been home in about two months.
I am going home tomorrow to get the house ready for Jes to come home. Those boxes are waiting for me. Ouch.
I'm so sorry, Suzy. I wish I could go with you. John loved you, and I do, too.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if we are ever ready for some of these types of things. My son passed away in Feb from Leukemia, and yesterday I decided to clean out the pantry; you know something to get rid of all this nervous, ADD energy. Well, what do I find in the pantry; all of his snacks, fruit sticks, crackers, juice boxes, you get the picture. Yep, I for some reason thought the pantry might be a safe area for me only to find my self sitting in the kitchen floor sobbing and holding onto graham crackers.
ReplyDeleteThose boxes you have will be there when you decide to go through them, and even then it won't be easy. I say this to you because so many people that want us to get over these emotions aren't the ones who have to open the boxes or the pantry and have every once of our love, hate and anguish come spill out again. I know all of this sucks for you, it sucks for me too; but reading your words reminds me that right now I'm not alone (yea, not a group anyone want s to be in). Thank you for all of your words.
Hi Jeri. I am so very sorry for your loss. I know that sounds cliche, and I'm sorry for that too. It is hard to imagine your pain.
Delete"have every ounce of our love, hate and anguish come spill out again." Wow. I try so hard to keep those feelings wrapped up in a little place somewhere inside of me. It feels dangerous to let them out. The people that are a little farther down this path than you and I, assure me that love will win out in the end. I can't wait for that day.