It's been awhile since I've posted in this blog. Not because I haven't been thinking of Lionel...quite the opposite -- I haven't been able to stop. For a little over a week, my 9-5 job has been brutally busy and stressful, so much so that when I get home, all I want to do is climb into bed, pull the covers over my head and go to sleep until the next morning, which usually seems to arrive in about two hours.
But despite my hectic days and exhausted nights, I've found that thoughts of Lionel seep into every random moment, every tiny bit of downtime during the day. At night, when I finally do get to bed I think I will fall asleep immediately...then lay awake for hours with fragments of memories running through my mind. I find myself involuntarily replaying every single experience with him, in a patchwork jumble of thoughts and feelings.
His family has not yet come by to retrieve his belongings,. Some I moved into his closet for safekeeping, others I can't bear to disturb. Every time I begin to feel that the pain is easing up a bit, a moment sneaks up on me, revealing that it is just as strong as ever.
Monday, I had to got to Baltimore for my job, which meant getting up early and taking the commuter train. I'd gotten used to the drill last year while Lionel was in the hospital, when there was an IT project to complete in the Baltimore office that required my presence several times. It was always stressful, because I hated being so far away from the hospital that I couldn't get there at a moments notice. It was a somber ride on those grey winter mornings. I tried listening to music to distract myself, but I couldn't help wondering what was going on in the ICU. Was he awake? Was he comfortable? Was he frightened? Lonely? Disoriented? Crying? Was the hated ventilator tube down his throat, or was he miserable with the breathing mask? Were his wrists tied too tightly to the bed? Was he struggling against his restraints? I couldn't wait until my work was finished... and then the train back to D.C. couldn't come quickly enough or travel fast enough. All I wanted was to get to D.C., back to the hospital, see him with my own eyes, reassure him that he wasn't abandoned. Touch him. Hug him. Watch over him.
The last time I'd made this trip, was the day after Lionel died. It was agony to have to go. The work was complex and problematic and the day ran long. I was racing to get back to the city because I had a show that night. It was the first performance of a new play and I had to be there, but my mind and heart weren't in it. I survived the evening, propped up by friends, then went home to an empty apartment where the reality of Lionel's death at last began to hit me.
This past Monday, all it took was the train pulling out of the station, the familiar landscape gliding by outside the window to bring it all back. One of the most horrible, painful times of my life. I cried all the way to Baltimore, I just couldn't stop. Listening to my Ipod just made it worse. No matter what music I selected, all of the songs sounded so sad.
By the time we arrived at Penn Station, I had given myself a headache from the crying and had to go in the men's room and splash water on my face to look presentable. The cab ride to the office gave me time to pull myself together, fortunately the driver wasn't talkative. When I got upstairs, everyone was preoccupied and I was able to hide the state I was in until I got busy with work.
This time, my return to D.C. did not mean hurrying to the hospital to check on Lionel. That sobering realization was all I was able to think about the entire way back. Again, my eyes filled with tears, blurring the passing landscape. Another grim ride that seemed to last forever.
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