By Lorry Myers
I feel like I am a ghost of myself haunting my own house. I float from room to room, looming in the doorway like I am waiting for someone to notice. I jump at my own bumps and constantly turn to an empty chair. I feel weightless and untethered, like a part of me is missing.
I can’t figure it out.
I still sleep on the same side of the bed and eat my dinner at the same table for two. I wake at the same time, go to bed at the same time and my deadlines haven’t changed. Everything works the same even though nothing is the same. I still watch the 5:30 news, read the newspaper and talk out loud to someone that used to be here.
Old habits are hard to break.
Since my husband passed away, I fill my mind and my time with lists. Every night, I make a to-do list for the next day. I organized my kitchen cabinets and found food that was disturbingly out of date. I dug into my linen closet and pondered why I have all those tablecloths. I sorted my costume jewelry and weeded out the pieces that no longer apply to my life.
Check that off the list.
Some of what I do each day, is fill out forms, provide copies of death certificates and land on hold while customer service researches what I need to move on with the rest of my life. I wait on the phone and I wait for the mail and I wait for a time machine to take me back in time. I started file folders with labels and divided my closet by colors and all the while I’m doing it, I think I hear a door open.
I think I hear a familiar step.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.