The shoes say it all

Once again I was completely numb today. No highs or lows. I’ve been finding myself “leaking” from the eyes. Wasn’t there a movie when the protagonist was crying and he goes “my eyes are leaking”? I say leaking because I’m not really crying. I just have tears that stream from the outside corners of my eyes. I know when I’m crying and I don’t feel that can be catalogued into when my head is shoved into a pillow and I’m convulsing.

My days have been relatively uneventful. Because school is out on winter break I don’t have to be in the office until later this week. Benefits of college employment. But I haven’t been doing anything during the day besides reading and the occasional chores. I am staying at my parents house right now, which is nice because I don’t have a ton of responsibilities. So I find my mind drifting off and becoming lost in memories.

Todays notable memory came when my mom and I decided to go shoe shopping. She was talking about sneakers and although I was listening I immediately started thinking about how cool George’s shoe collection is/was. In fact my dad quickly hijacked a pair of George’s Toms a week or so after he passed. It is comforting to me when I see my dad wear them.

When George and I first started dating we texted nonstop as we were getting to know each other on a more romantic level. George mentioned one of his vices was, was his shoe collection. He had an affinity for Puma sneakers and any other sneakers that could be considered casual but not sporty. He was great at coordinating his outfits around his sneakers. He was the only guy who could wear a suit with a pair of Chromes and still look professional. One afternoon in Bermuda, we were walking around in Hamilton and we decided to stop and grab a coffee at a little coffee shop. As we climbed the short stack of stairs, this guy who had an English/Bermudan accent calls out to us. He was sitting at a table just outside the coffee shop and said, “love those shoes, mate.” George brightened up and was shining a big toothy smile. He loved getting compliments on his footwear. He was proud of his collection. I loved when he would come home and show me his newest pair of kicks.

Today marks 6 weeks since he died. It’s still hard to believe that the real last conversation we had was almost 7 weeks ago. As the year comes to a close I’m terrified to put one foot in front of the other, but what other choice do I have? It’s time to lace up and try to adapt to this new life that seemed to come way too soon.


Retail therapy

My time in California is coming to an end. Tomorrow I fly back to the east coast, and I’m wavering back and forth on whether it was a good idea to come here this week. My grief counselor didn’t think it was a great idea and now I completely understand. My head was not right and neither was my heart. I never had the chance to meet my niece because I couldn’t bare to look at her without thinking she was born while I lost the most important person in my life. I’m starting more to also consider I’m just not ready to bring more love into my heart. Ill talk it over with someone objective.

Due to my inability to be around a newborn, my sister took me around Silver Lake today shopping and treating myself. This morning was rough because my mom kept asking if I really didn’t know George was as sick as he was while we were dating, and my optimism can be quickly transformed and labeled as naive or ignorant. It’s so easy for her to point this out after he’s dead, like oh how could you hav not seen this coming? But no one did. We returned from our honeymoon on October 25 and exactly one month later he was leaving our apartment in a body bag. His final stage came extremely quickly. I’m a broken record.

So my sister took my dress shopping and after trying on a couple dresses I kept telling her I’ve let myself go. I just feel horribly unattractive. George always made me feel beautiful even on days I woke up disheveled. Admittedly once I found out he wasnt going to get better back in September I stopped working out and just didn’t care about myself. It’s starting to show. I tried on the second to last dress in the bunch and when I saw myself in the mirror I felt like George was looking back at me saying “do you know how beautiful you are?” I bought it seconds later.

My mood did begin to get better as the day progresses. We got pedicures and I got my eyebrows done. The little bit we did helped my mood tremendously and it was the best mental day of the week. But the looming return back east might be playing a part as well. I don’t feel George as much out here. There’s more reminders back home and I need them to get by. Without them all there is left is a void in my heart and a desperate need for symbols and signs. Image

One eye open

When George slipped into a coma in his final days, his left eye was slightly open. I kept trying to shut it, but it would carefully pry open again. I’m not sure why it was happening, but his mother said it was due to dryness. When he passed away, his left eye was still slightly open and I tried to shut it. Just like how they do in the movies, and let me tell you something, death is nothing like the movies. That eye crept back open just seconds after I tried to shut it so he could rest peacefully. Well, it’s no doubt to me that he’s keeping an eye on me. I asked him to, and I believe he is.

With it being holiday season, I’m beginning to get very worked up over small things. Whether it’s the holiday music or the pushy parents in the grocery stores. But the biggest thing is when people post pictures of their “first christmas married.” I am at the time in my life when many of my colleagues and former classmates are getting married, and when they post about their first holidays as a married couple, I want to throw my computer against the wall. I’m never going to experience those firsts. My only firsts I had as a married couple is, Columbus Day, Halloween, and Veterans Day. Although Halloween is my favorite holiday, and George and I spent it eating candy and drinking beers. I loved every second of it too. The big question of this December I’ve overheard my parents talking about with my siblings is what to get me. Besides time machine, there’s not much else. But then I remembered one thing. I need weatherproof boots. I work outside from January-May, and my feet are always icicles. So today my mom and I went shopping.

We went to the mall where I was ready to have a melt down, but this extremely nice clerk came over and helped us. Little did she know she soothed my nerves. There was one boot they had that I read incredible reviews and the color I liked online was the navy blue. I decided on navy because that was George’s favorite color and it would remind me of him. Well she came over with 2 boots, one in a 8.5 (not my size) and one in a 7.5 (my size). The larger one was the navy boot and I wanted so badly for it to fit, but it was far too big. But the 7.5 came in a purple. My favorite color. Online they never had the boot in purple so I was very excited to see it. I was trying them on and I looked at my mom and told her, If George was here, he would buy me the purple boots in a heart beat for Christmas.

When George and I started dating, I kept wearing purple shirts, and he always admired how nice purple looked on me. I finally confessed to him purple was my favorite color. The next time I spent the night at his apartment, he had bought me a purple towel to use. I still have and use that towel. For our first winter together, he bought me a fake burberry scarf in purple, and for our first Christmas he got me a purple purse. When we moved into our current apartment together he got me a purple travel speaker for my iPhone. This man knew I loved purple and he spoiled me rotten with it.

My mom took the boots and said, “well he must be with us then,” and we walked to the counter to pay. When we were at the counter the sweet clerk was talking about how her husband has a liver problem and that she can’t enjoy too much drinking this holiday. So weird, because ultimately George passed due to liver cancer. But the cherry on top of this story is, when she cashed us out, the boots, which are somewhat pricy, were 25% off. When she told us the good news, my mom looked at me and said, George did very well on picking out a Christmas gift for you after all.

As trivial as this story is, and basing it around something as materialistic as boots, I do feel he’s keeping an eye on me.