What I've Learned About Living with Death

In two days it will be two months since Ziggaro died. I still don't have my shit together. I'm still crying like it's my job. Some moments I still can't believe it, a lot of moments I still can't believe it. Some moments I'm angry. But mostly, I'm just so sad.

1. It's Weird.

I thought by now that I'd be settling into a new normal. Nothing feels normal, I don't even know what that is anymore. Everything I do feels weird. Cooking dinner is weird because he isn't in his bed under the oven. Sitting on the couch feels weird because he isn't sleeping one seat over. Being at work is weird because there's no yipping when customers come in. My minute to minute life is so different now, right down to the littlest things. Even going the bathroom is weird.

I literally took this of him from the bathroom connected to our bedroom the week he died. Yes, I'm on the toilet. And yes, his head is resting on baby bumpers (priceless for easing my worry of him falling out of bed).

My usual morning view from the powder room toilet. Sometimes he wanted to be right next to me, sometimes he just wanted to be close by. But he was never out of sight.

2. It sucks.

Every. Damn. Thing. Sucks... I mean, this is not shocking news & I didn't expect otherwise. But this magnitude of my sadness, it was unexpected and unfathomable until it happened. Christmas was yesterday. I spent most of it on the couch under a blanket crying. When I wasn't there I was upstairs laying on the floor in the closet crying, or in the kitchen rummaging for anything chocolate and crying, or in the bathroom physically ill and - you guessed it - crying... Merry Crying Christmas.

3. It gets worse.

From the day Zig died, people began telling me that each day will get a little easier. They are either liars, in denial, have never experienced significant loss OR they just grieve differently and cannot comprehend our differences. They genuinely mean well, but I still die a little inside every time I hear it. All I can do is smile that plastic sort of smile and nod my head, because there is nothing I can say to make them understand that it isn't like that for me. It's not because they are dense or uncaring, it's actually the opposite. Human nature makes us want those we love to be okay. And they so want me to be okay. I get that. Hell, I want me to be okay. And some day I am sure this will actually start to get easier, but that hasn't happened yet.

4. It's awkward.

Some people just pretend nothing happened. Ironically, it's mostly those who have known me my whole life. I cannot tell you how many times I've talked with extended family members who know damn well Ziggaro died and that I am devastated, but say nothing. I don't want to have a big sobfest and tell the story of our last day together or anything like that, but a quick hug & simple acknowledgement would be nice. Instead we talk about all kinds of dumb shit like we're acquaintances in Wawa. And I see terror in their eyes if they mention something that could even remotely lead into the topic that my best friend of fourteen and a half years died and I am so sad. It's clear that my presence alone makes them wildly uncomfortable, so I don't bring it up either. And honestly, I want to deal with them even less than they want to deal with me.

5. It's inconvenient.

I can't fucking get anything done. My house is a mess. All my favorite clothes are dirty. I'm wearing them anyway and it really doesn't matter - because let's be real, I'm dirty too.  I still can't seem to get myself into the shower or paint my toenails, shit I haven't even cut my toenails in two months. I can't listen to my favorite songs because they're the ones I used to hold Zig and dance in the kitchen to. I can't eat salmon without crying because it was his favorite fish. I cried while I grilled filet mignon last week. He'd always catch me if I managed to slip out back without him. I'd look up and there he was at the storm door staring out. So I'd put down the tongs and get him. But he's not there anymore and now I don't even want to eat steak.

6. It brings love & kindness from those I'd least expect.

While most of my family & friends were busy pretending nothing happened... The FedEx man teared up and comforted me as I cried. More customers than I can count cried, hugged me across the counter and told me how much they love Ziggaro, and how much they love me. A gentleman well into his 70's, who always has snarky (and usually not politically correct) stories to tell, told me that his dog had just died too - three days after Zig. And we cried together. People on social media that I have never met in "real life" messaged words of encouragement and continue to check in on me... My heart has seriously been touched so many times, by so many people to which I owe infinite thanks, because without them I may not have otherwise kept on keeping on.