The Dining Room Table
It's happening again. The tears. The memories. My mind is going there.
It's pretty amazing what can pinch the trigger.
Tonight it was me, saying goodnight to Jimmy. I lingered in his room a little longer than normal. He was drifting off.
I walked to my room, passing the dining room table I had recently set up. Placemats, cloth napkins, creamer and sugar dishes, decorative vase with filler and just added today: fresh cut flowers.
I thought the table looked so nice. And, in that moment, I had a quick glimpse of Jimmy sitting there eating. His legs propped up on the bottom wooden rung. You know, that spot where most people rest their feet on higher, bar-like stools.
It was like a dream. But I was wide awake. He was eating. Happily. Maybe reading a newspaper.
I then walked in my room and got incredibly sad.
Jimmy will probably never sit at that table and eat and/or read a newspaper. We won't be sitting there together in two wooded chairs. His chair will most-likely always be metal.
In fact, there's a whole generation of furniture in our new life he'll probably never touch.
Do you know how bad I miss him on the couch?
That couch has been in our lives for over a year and it hasn't brushed up against his skin. Not once.
The sad moments like I'm experiencing are fewer and farther between, thankfully.
But dammit if the pangs I'm feeling inside of me aren't as sharp as they were the first few nights after the accident.
I miss my old Jimmy sometimes. Maybe it's good I go down this road every once in awhile.
I don't want to forget the literal pep he had in his step. It's something I didn't even realize I loved about him, until after the accident. He bounced. He walked more on the balls of his feet than I did.
The morning will bring all that comes with the light of day, and the chance for me to hug my husband's neck; an act that will put a little band-aid over these particular pangs.
We'll share breakfast and coffee and I'll probably tell him about my sad moment.
He'll probably tell me to bring it in for a head hug.
I'll do it, and yeah, band-aid.
We'll get on with our day because that's what we do.
We take time to acknowledge the sad moments and allow ourselves to feel them.
Because, it's actually not all bad. It always doesn't hurt. I don't always miss my old Jimmy.
The "new" one is working out just fine.