Today I was a really cheerful person, talking and laughing with the Starbucks baristas even after they confused my drink order and lost my debit card. I was chatty and friendly for meetings, jolly and interesting. I was at my out-going best. Even my hair looked better than usual, bouncy and voluminous.
By the way, today marked Vincent's 11 month "angel" anniversary. He died exactly 11 months ago. But I didn't want to think about it, didn't want to face the darkness, so instead practiced avoidance techniques like crazy. All day I exuded graciousness, read smart intellectual books, (as opposed to my usual detective novels) pinned like crazy to my pinterest account, e-mailed my mom, hung out on Facebook, organized the refrigerator, moderately worked on a message for Sunday, and played with Theo. Oh, and I made dinner.
You should have seen me. I was beautiful and bubbly.
Oh, it wasn't all fake. I really felt all of those emotions. But really, I was hiding. Avoiding. Keeping away from a door I didn't want to open. A door I pretend doesn't exist. I kept it closed all day for fear of drowning.
But late tonight, right before bed, I just had to look at one video of Vincent, to see his face clearly in my mind. I selected it carefully, one that wasn't too long, where he didn't look too sick, when we weren't in the hospital. In the end I watched him wave a flag around on the 4th of July. All 30 seconds of it were perfect, beautiful, exactly what I could handle.
Now as I go to bed I'm going to attempt to shut out the other videos playing in my head, ones involving labored breathing, devastating developments, failed chemo treatments, cracked lips, line infections, somber doctors, feeding tube malfunctions and bleats of pain. I can't deal with them right now. Maybe another day.