More

Ready to cuddle.

Since she was about three, Lily has said most evenings as she gets sleepy, “Are you available to cuddle, Mommy?”

I always am.

It’s code for, “I’m about to pass out.”

I usually let her crash on me, then shovel her off to the side and check my facebook page. Sometimes these days, I let her rest on my shoulder longer and listen to her breathe and think about George. It’s the breathing that triggers memories, since sleeping together is such a huge part of being married to someone.

I’m missing the physical comfort of my mate.

George wasn’t much of a cuddler, but I could edge up to his sleeping body and snuggle, and though it wasn’t his idea, he seemed to appreciate it. Awake, he had limited time and patience for unnecessary physical contact, unless your name was Lily and then it was open season for lap sitting. He always said his lap was best for Lily (better to read and tickle) but if you were horizontal, nothing was better for laying on than me (soft and squishy, I guess.)

He was funny.

Lily, Sara and I are making it work, and Asheville is beautiful. So is the new house. Its overwhelming to watch it take shape, and very dreamlike. I feel like I am working for a client, as I did for so many years, creating something special for them. This time the client is me, but it doesn’t really feel real.

None of my life feels exactly real since this happened, and no matter how we compensate, there is a  gaping hole.  Its the unexpressed longing we feel whenever we think of him, which is always. No more Daddy Monster to chase Lily, (and sometimes Mommy.)

No more caustic jokes.

No more crazy sayings.

No more George.

I will tell you that the stages of grief are still jumping around and sometimes I’m back to bargaining, thinking there’s some way to get him back.

Sometimes I’m realistic. But I hate it.

Lily went to see “Oliver!” today, the musical about orphans. Being a half orphan herself, she was quite intrigued and she was a little concerned about what can happen when you are a whole one. “They had to pick pockets! They never got seconds!” she marveled. ”‘You want more?”  the guy said! “About FOOD!”

“They weren’t doing a very good job of taking care of those kids,” she told me, brow furrowed.

Since Lily is all about “more,”  just like her daddy was, this was ultra disturbing.

So she sang the songs, using her British accent, and asked a lot of questions about being on your own, then she went off to play with Lola Bunny, whom I heard her scold for “being a nudist.”

In her way, she is carrying on, dad or no dad. She’s surviving. She’s figuring it out.

But I want more.

More time with George, more comfort, more good times.

I’m not going to get it.

I don’t dwell on specific events that often any more, but I still have a deep sadness I can’t really shake. A longing for his company and his presence. For his approval, even for his disapproval of my decisions.

I want to see him again.

We all say it, all of us survivors, so its a cliche, but I’d take just one more day with him over just about anything I can imagine.

So though we intend to carry on and have a good life, both Lily and I are still hurting.  Still trying to find a way to feel normal.  Still wanting more.

Cuddling helps a little.

But in the night, with her breathing beside me, I think about my husband, and the accident, and our sadness, and I can’t help it.

I want more.

Related posts:

1. The Building Begins
2. Gone Daddy Gone
3. Down and Dirty
4. Who Do You Love?
5. Living Between Two Worlds

Tagged as: anger, coping, Facebook, george maddox, grief, like a dream, lily maddox, lisa maddox, love, marriage, NC, new house, SARA BYRD, st. barnabus burn unit, surreal, widow