Tonight will be my third night sleeping in the apartment.
The apartment... is surronded by boxes. Lots and lots of boxes. I think people were surprised at how much stuff we had. Because this was stuff John and I had accumulated in the 5 and a half years we were together. Going through boxes is a slow and sometimes painful process. The other night I found a small card from John. He wrote me a poem...something I will post later once I can find it again. Also there were our valentine day cards. John always knew how to say the sweetest things although he admitted in almost every note, card and letter that he couldn't express himself accordingly. It's true. There is this depth to love. Well, if you are lucky enough to reach it where words aren't enough. Just sounds being produced from your mouth and voice. But how can you express your deepest affection for someone? Penguins have it so simple. A pebble. That's forever to a penguin. Life partners. No drama.
Birds got it right. Once the pick a mate it's for life.
I was a bird. True to the core. That's why I relate to them so well.
When John died the first bird I saw was a cardinal. This is NOT uncommon as I googled this occurance. Birds pick a mate for life. Owls take it so seriously that they most literally don't survive after their mate dies.
Humans decide to live. We feel there is something else out there. A reason we were chosen to live. Everyone likes to suggest what my reasons are but deep inside I know this is something I will have to figure out for myself. And I am still considering it. What is my purpose? And why did John die? The second question will have no answer. I guess that is what pisses me off the most. Because I am a girl that likes resolution RIGHT AWAY.
If I get into an arguement with someone I don't want to slam the door behind me and soak it in for a few days. I want to open the door back up and say "how can we fix this?"
So, when I can't fix it.... when I can't get a resolution... an answer... I just get frustrated.
Packing and moving has made me VERY irritated. My words come out like razors. Sharp tongue and corse words. I am edgy, frantic and impatient. I hate this change. And I am a change kind of girl... but I wasn't ready for this one.
When John and I first moved in with his parents in 2007 during my internship I constantly complained about "living in boxes." I hated it. Not knowing where my things were. When I needed a certain something I wouldn't be able to find it. I couldn't wait to get a place of our own. So, we got an apartment. And I was so happy. A place to call OURS. No roommates. No parents. When we first got into the apartment we had not a lot of things. A book shelf, a desk, a bed. No couch, no entertainment, hardly any kitchen equiptment, no shower curtain or anything to make the place "homey." All that stuff accumulated with time.
But I do remember how our first night in the apartment (and this is the part that if you are related to John you might want to skip :)
we decided to make love in every room. Even the closets. It was so funny. I remember the carpet itching my back so much. I remember the awkwardness of the kitchen.
We were on our own. And we loved it.
When I lost my job in 2009 and we had to move back in with his parents in the summer I once again freaked out about "living out of boxes." Even though I knew most necessities would be available to me. I had worked so hard to build up our own things... and I had to put them away. And wait for a day where we could once again be surronded by things that were "us."
I never thought I would be unpacking the boxes without John. I can't say to him... "oh my goodness! Look what I found! Remember this?" Because those memories were between us. Our plastic cups we collected from college. The embarrassing cup made by my brother and sister-in-law for my graduation.
And the vases, oh the vases. John bought me flowers a few times a year. Valentines day, our anniversary, birthday, and sometimes after a concert. Sometimes he just bought them to by them. He started out with roses and moved on to more unique things. Tulips and lilies. So, every vase coming out of the box made me think of those occassions. How in November I won't be getting those flowers from John. Because we no longer share that date. It won't be 6 years. Our relationship stopped at 5 and a half. Yet I still feel like it's going on. Like a invisible string is still connecting us from earth to heaven. I still wear my ring as if the wedding will happen. Just delayed. And when October comes.... the reality will sink in. That the only weddings going on are everyone's but my own.
And every box is a surprise.
I used to love unpacking things and putting them in their place. Their designated spot. Now I feel like I have too much stuff for this apartment. And when it gets put together it will ressemble the Autumn and John apartment. I won't mean to do it. But this is what I have. Our stuff. The girls will add their things in. It will eventually put some difference in the decor. But the red kitchen appliances? Aren't going anywhere.
And the wall scones? Will get put up again.
And the million pictures of me and John?
Will find their place. They will not be living in a box right now. They can't go in a box right now. I am not putting John in another box. Yet, he is in a box now. His ashes. His remains. They aren't John. My John. My John isn't in a box. He is everywhere. But not in a box.
I am exhausted with emotions. I am tired of moving furniture. I am broke and spending more money that I have. I have opened up two credit accounts to pay for my new bed and our TV.
John wouldn't have approved that. Oops.
The boxes. Oh, the boxes. They are written all over.... Autumn and John. John and Autumn. John and Autumn's books. J and A.
They will be thrown away. They won't be our boxes next time. They are my boxes. I will have our memory box. But how to put 5 and a half of amazing moments into a leather box? I would need a box as big as this city alone. They would be overflowing. They can't be contained in a box. Little momentos. Ticket stubs, letters, special pictures, flight tickets to far off places.... in the box. But the memories that go with them? Not in a box. In my heart, my mind... they are with me. I wish I could scoop them out and store them in a box. Just so I always know they would stay in place. A filing cabinet of our memories. And pulling one out and playing it back as real as it was the first time. Our first kiss, the first time we said I love you, laying by the ocean, talking late at night about nothing at all...
I hate these damn boxes.