*A Week Later*

It’s been a really tough week. I’m still reeling, feeling off-balance since learning of Patty’s death. It just feels odd, maybe even wrong. I mean, there are really only two people on this freakin’ planet with whom I feel I can be totally vulnerable, people who know all of my shit and can advise, will listen, will help me to work things through, will offer me maybe a different perspective on things or play devil’s advocate in order for me to enable myself to see “the big picture,” not my sometimes narrow view of things. Patty is… was… one of those people.

At times like this Patty was the first person I’d call. I could actually cry with her, something I don’t allow anyone else to experience. She cut through my bullshit, too, telling me in no uncertain terms if I was being unreasonable about something or was maybe over-reacting.

The other person with whom I can be so open, my best friend since 1977 when I was twelve years old, LG, has been extremely tied up with having to focus on her own stuff lately. I’ve been able to be of assistance to her, which I love. But it’s been sort of unreciprocated. It’s not a bad thing. She’s going through a really ugly situation that has been ongoing for over two years and looks like it won’t be resolved for at least several more months. She was shocked when I told her about Patty and was genuinely concerned for me and my mental state/physical welfare. And she did check on me a couple of times until her visitors from out-of-state arrived. She’s extremely busy with them right now so we haven’t been able to talk at all since Monday. So instead, I’ve stayed alone with my thoughts, never venturing out unless it’s extremely early in the morning when hardly anyone else is around. I’ve gone to the convenience store for my tankard refill of Diet Pepsi; and yesterday I had to pick up a few groceries. I’ve always gotten back home well before 7 a.m. so I can be inside, cocooned, safe and locked away from the rest of the world.

I’ve been aching for people who have contacted me either through OD, e-mail or, in a few cases, even phone calls, all wanting to know what happened; why, after beginning to do so well post-surgery, Patty was suddenly gone. I “get” why her friends, both online and off-, want to know more details. I understand it will help them to process all of this, to help to work through the grief.

But I can’t tell what I’ve not been given permission yet to say. I just can’t. Believe me, if I ever get the okay from Patty’s family to talk more about her last couple of days, I will. It’s really damned hard to not tell people, both because I know they need to know and because I need to talk to someone about it.

I saw my counselor yesterday morning. She was shocked, to say the least, as Patty has come up so many times during our sessions. She (my counselor) was a little sing-song, joking even, at first because I’ve mentioned Patty a lot. But when I told her the Patty was gone she immediately shifted gears and worked on helping me get through all of this (the grief, the feeling of having to have a secret from people who really need to know). The session with my counselor went by way too quickly and I left feeling like all I did was give voice to what had happened and what I have been going through. That was more than I’d been able to do up until that point, you know? So it was a good session even though I really didn’t seem to feel any better after I left. I’ve not been able to attend my IOP classes all week, nor was I able to re-start physical therapy. I plan on getting back on track next week because Patty will supernaturally kick my ass unless I keep up with both of those programs. She was so supportive, as always, and proud of me that I’ve been getting so much out of both of them.

I hope to get back to normal soon, even if that “normal” is now something a little different. There’s the proverbial hole in my heart that only Patty could fill. She still is doing that, just in a different way. It’s going to take me a long, long time to accept and understand, fully, that she’s gone. Her family tells me I am forever part of them and they want me to come visit. I don’t know if I could do that right now; but maybe some time in the future.

Patty… I’m trying. I truly am. I’d like to think you’re with me somehow, helping me through this as you helped me through so much else in my life. You lived with extreme pain for many, many years yet were still instantly on the alert if something was going on with me that maybe I wasn’t handling so well. We had meals together; visited each other at our respective homes; you finally got me into the lake water and even scared the crap out of me by driving your Sea-Doo at almost top speed, my fat ass trying to hold on to you all the while. Thousands of hours of phone time have been logged, cards and letters written or exchanged, advice received and sometimes given… You are truly one of the many things with which God has blessed me during my sometimes confusing and crazy life. You’re a forever friend, no matter that we’re existing on different planes right now. I’m glad you’re now out of pain. I’m glad that your relationship with your son was starting to get a lot better before you passed because when it was bad between you two, it was really bad. It’s seemingly not fair that so much good was starting to happen for you again, and then you’re taken away. But you truly believed that God has a plan for everyone, and that “His will be done.” I have a hard time with all of that at times, which you understood and for which you didn’t judge me. There were certain things on which we agreed to disagree: politics; our different takes on religion while at the same time both expressing our Christianity; some silly stuff, some not so silly… all discussed and chewed on and listened about.

Now I need to get back into my own life. I’ve not been able to all week, as I said. The last thing Patty would want would be for me to stop all of the good things I’ve had going on in my life of late. She’d allow me a bit of time for a pity party and then would tell me to buck up. I’d do the same for her. For the rest of my life I’ll hear her nasal, Southern drawl in my head, still advising me, still making me laugh at times, still making me cry at other times… still being my friend.