Have been catching up on all the “maintenance” doctor’s visits that I have been putting off for the last…oh, I don’t know…years. Between the time of unemployment, underemployment, and a time of no health care coinciding with Justin’s death…yeah, maintenance was the last thing on my mind. Still is, it is a discipline to make the appointment and keep it. I hate having to update records, I hate the endless questions, the stupid forms asking the same questions. I hate having to update the doctors on “well, what’s new, haven’t seen you in …wow, almost two years…yeah, yeah, whatever.
Saw the eye doctor, found out I have somewhat “dry” eyes, my eyes are rarely dry, but evidently in between crying my eyes are dry. What causes dry eyes and eye strain?…stress, lack of sleep, computer screens…age. I found the eye exam irritating, annoying…the endless questions…which is better?…one or two, a or b? And the perennial joke of the doctor having me take off my glasses and asking me what I can read…no I can’t see the big “E”…hahaha, yeah…you get that bigger chart, now just check my eyes before I leave. No I don’t want a picture of my retina for $25 dollars.
You see, my mind is always thinking of Justin. Especially having to update the doctor, Justin was a patient there also. Listening to the response so frequently heard “wow, that must have been hard”…been hard?…BEEN hard?…the assumption that is so frequently made that your child’s death exists in the past…months ago, you are over it right, it was hard then, but not so bad now, right? I bite my tongue, answer the silly questions about my vision, yes there has been a change, here is what to do for the dry eyes, great…thanks. Next I get to interface with the overly happy optician who is going to help me pick out new glasses. So she asks “have you had these eyes your entire life?”….a dozen replies come to my lips, none of them charitable…so I dutifully quip back “yes, all my life…have always had horrid nearsightedness.” She just keeps chattering away, wondering why I haven’t found any glasses I like yet. How do you tell the obtuse that you don’t care what frames you pick out, that nothing really matters today, that your mind is back on your dead son and that just being out in public has exhausted you. The obvious answer is that you can’t say anything of the sort, so I list my parameters, nickel-free, no rhinestones, can accommodate my prescription. The non-stop chatter continues about glasses in the 70’s right through corrective surgery on her eyes…what is that, lasik..something like that…wonderful, glad it worked for you…can I leave now?
Go to check out…over $300 dollars and that is with insurance, they don’t let you leave without paying. Debit or credit? Debit. “Oh” says the little gal checking me out…you will need a pin number for that, do you know your pin number? Did I just cross over into the twilight zone? I bit through the already bloody spot on my tongue and tell her I think I can manage the pin if she can just hand me the keypad. “Do you want a receipt”? Really, why wouldn’t I want a receipt…please stop asking me stupid questions, just stop talking actually. The cacophony of noise we are subjected to is obnoxious. Music piped in the waiting room, personal conversations between the staff, cell phone conversations….it is an auditory assault on a mind that is already saturated, with a mind that is still trying to process just how different life is….trying to process what it is like to never hear that voice again, to see that head tilt as the cats are racing through the house and hear him say “ain’t they cute” as they scatter papers and cups of coffee.
Driving home I get caught in a stream of tractor trailer trucks, in all the lanes…my body tenses trying to anticipate where the trucks are heading next, not wanting to be in their way, just wanting space between me and them. I always think about Justin’s accident, what was it that caused him to swerve so abruptly?…was it an animal?….was there another vehicle? I could look at the pictures again of the accident scene, the skid marks…the point of departure off the road, I still can’t get a clear picture, it makes no sense. How does one reconcile that in their head? When do you finally lay down to sleep and not think about his accident, when do you finally close your eyes and not see his face underwater? Not knowing is almost as haunting as knowing…not that it would change anything…the reality is still brutally harsh and lonely.
Ryan’s kitten has just unrolled the last roll of paper towels and is having a glorious time playing with the cardboard tube….I can hear him chirping to it…Justin would be smiling, reminding me why we love cats. Justin it is so dark without you, it was easy to believe in all things good when you were around…much harder without you. We miss you, love you forever.
I get you. Exactly.