It’s been seven days since the movers were here, and I’ve had my first really bad day. I had allowed myself to believe that I wouldn’t have any more days like this; now it seems that moving to Denver isn’t going to be a complete cure.
Yesterday I went to Super Target and filled a cart with things I needed for the apartment: a tension rod with selves for the bathtub; dishes for salads and pasta, which I have been needing for a while; a shredder; a doormat for my balcony; a beverage dispenser to replace a cracked pitcher. I looked at thermal curtain panels and area rugs, tried to find some big latte cups. I came home, made meatloaf for dinner, and watched My Life in Ruins.
The movie was my mistake. Richard Dreyfuss played “Irv,” a tourist taking his first vacation since his wife’s death three years before. In a scene at the beach, Irv is sitting by himself thinking about his wife when she appears. He tells her that she’s made him wait too long to join her. Moments later (in the movie) he’s discovered unconscious in the sand.
Today I went out again to try to find the things I hadn’t found at Super Target. I should have known better than to attempt a second all-day shopping trip. As I felt myself getting tired, and with nothing in my cart, finally gave up and came home. I collapsed into my chair and sobbed for a while, thinking about how hard it is to get through every day without Hal, wondering if a day will come when he’ll suddenly appear at my side, and I will know that I don’t have to suffer any more.
I slept for 3 hours, ate leftover meatloaf, watched the movie again and wept during the beach scene. In the movie, Irv doesn’t die, but I suspect that in the original script, he did. I think that the director thought Irv’s death would be too sad for what was supposed to be a light-hearted comedy. But the way I see it, Irv was cheated out of the chance to join his wife.
I’ll never watch that movie again.

