The Picture

I guess I would have to say today was a bad day.  Emotionally raw; it was a day where I just had to put my head down and get through.  Yesterday I had gone out for dinner with a good friend.  It was a lovely meal out and a lovely way to pass a few hours.  It was afterwards that the sadness hit.  Jealousy wrapped up in sadness is probably more accurate. You see, most of my friends are still married, no widows in my immediate circle.  So, for them, they get to look across the dinner table at their husbands every night.  Every day they routinely engage in small talk, arguments, they might get mad at each other and they may or may not make up.  But the presence and the involvement and the sheer state of “couple-ness” exists for them.  I hope they appreciate it.  What I wouldn’t give to have that back again.

So for bedtime last night I recognized the signs of a potential disastrous night’s sleep and did the preventive stuff.  I took a sleeping pill and washed it down with a beverage called Calm.  It did the trick and I zonked out in no time flat.  I woke up this morning, however, to the same feelings.  When this happens, and this was not the first time, my morning routine to get ready for work is always minimal.  It is a feat just to drag myself to work.  At times like these I just don’t care.  It doesn’t matter what I wear or how I look.  Usually once I am at work I snap out of it.  The routine and the demands of the workplace provide enough momentum to get me through and even back on track.

I’d also planned a couple of activities for after work, to stay busy and avoid thinking.  One of the activities involved a visit to a framing shop to have a painting framed.  When I got back home I went in to my husband’s art room, to see what else I should perhaps think of framing, and could take with me when the present painting was ready for pick up.  In the art room, Kevin, my husband, had painted a family portrait of sorts – it had been finished in early 2014.  He’d hung it on the wall above his table and behind his easel.  Today, when I saw it, I thought, that’s the one that I’ll frame next.  I took it off the wall and that’s when I saw the handwriting on the stretcher boards on the back.  Kevin’s scratchy lettering; dedicating the painting to his family.  It was the sweetest and dearest thing, and I had no idea it was there.  I am glad I found it.  Although it brought on the tears, it also made me feel like he was sending me a message, one that I needed to hear.

I took that painting out of the art room and hung it on the bedroom wall.  I won’t get it framed, it’s perfect the way it is.

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