Time is running short and projects are getting finished, or nearly so. As promised, today while it was a hundred degrees (or more--I swear it was more) outside, the main focus was tiling the shower downstairs. I didn't have to do much more than fetch and carry a few tiles, so I got off very easy. The most difficult part of the whole equation on my part was deciding what the pattern on the ceiling would be. We had several different options, from a random placement of accent tiles, to brackets (perfect for a girl who writes parenthetical phrases every night), to something that looks like a video game target. The target won. The uneven walls and floor were still visible, even with Mr X's skilled tile work, but once it is grouted and the doors are rehung, no one will notice or care. And then, when that is finished, I will finally have the three-bed-two-bath home that I purchased last year. We never even turned the water on in that shower a single time since we moved in. I have to guess that it really works. It will be on me to paint and redecorate in there. Finishing touches aren't part of the "I will fix what I started around the house" compact that we made months ago when the separation was announced to me.
I am still living in a state of denial. I am going through my days like I'm not running out of time, like my whole world won't change in a week. I don't know how I'm going to feel next week and in the weeks after. Will I kick myself for wasting time? Missing out on last opportunities to do things? I've talked myself blue and nothing has changed, but I got a lot off of my chest that has been burning inside me for years, things that I had to say before it was too late. I don't think words can alter the course now, but at least I made my case when I could. I still want to do things with him, but I can't divert him from the things that need to be finished, and I'm not physically up to laboring with him on the outside projects (painting trim, heavy yardwork, etc). I could barely stand to be in the basement where it was cool today, after running errands during the worst heat of the day. There's no way I could have helped move flagstones or lay mulch this week. I believe that the sun sensitivity is a thousand times worse than it ever was before, now that I'm on medications to treat this whole process. Where last year we enjoyed going to the farmers market together on occasional Saturdays, this year I shudder at the idea of walking in the sun that long. And now, I've missed my last chance to go there with him before he is gone.
I had wanted to do something for him for one last Fathers Day. In the old days, when the kids were little, we always went to Mothers Day brunch at the clubs on base, but Fathers Days were usually a different story. He never seemed to want us to do much for him. Many of them were days much like today was, where he was working outside while we tried to put together a nice dinner to tempt him to sit still, if for only a few minutes. So that's what I did again this time. I slow cooked ribs and corn on the grill and waited for a chance to hand him a card, and hoped that it vaguely felt like the peace offering that it was. I'm trying to be an adult about all of this, even as the four-year-old inside me is having a hysterical tantrum. And the grown up shell of me wanted one last chance to thank him for the two best things that ever happened to me, the two times I made him a father. All that came before and after it was worth it for those two girls.
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