I’ve begun thinking about Lisa’s death in more contextualized terms. Distance, therefore, is happening whether I want it to or not. This evening I said something like this to two of the cats: “[Lisa] used to do it this way; that’s what you’re remembering.” It dawned on me that after six months Lisa has begun to fall into memory for me. I do not want this to happen, of course, but there’s bugger-all I can do about it until….never mind. Anyway:
So I’m trying to restart my life by making a trip, of all things. I sometimes think I’m daft for doing this at all, but ever since Lisa died I’ve been drawn toward the idea of going back to the precise place where she agreed we should come back. Our place of last agreement about travel. Sicne then I can’t be satisfied until I’m standing at a precise beachside street-corner where we made that agreement; but at that point, my friends, it’s hard to know what I’m going to feel. The afterwards then is an appallingly blank slate.
No kidding, I’m anxious as all hell. Nervous, wishing I was just getting home instead. This is odd to me, but then it’s impossible to estimate the emotions of simply doing something like this. I have to do it, all the same. It’s like when I paid off her “final bills,” which included her eternal resting place (within sight of her grandfather, precisely as she most wished; I do not want to regard her like that, which is why I understand Don’s widow’s reluctance to go to the crypt—his death did everything but destroy her yet she survived, and the same’s happened to me, making us, at least in my mind, linked together in some way); there was never any doubt about what to do. Likewise now. I don’t know why. The point of the exercise has become the finding-out.
Be sure I will be blogging from CA whenever possible. Hopefully, the writing becomes the basis of something more concrete in scope. We’ll see.