3 Month Stains

Yesterday was 3 months. I had been putting off cleaning my bedroom since Mike died. There was a slight path to the bed, and other than that clutter everywhere. I decided that yesterday was going to be the day that I reclaimed my bedroom. Once I started cleaning I remembered why I had been putting it off for so long. As the clutter came off the floor the blood stains became visible. It is almost funny how we repress things that are too painful to remember. There are so many times I started cleaning the bedroom and then just gave up. I just could not do it! How could I forget about those stains? But on the 3 month sadiversary, for some reason my psyche decided that it was time to remember.

Seeing those blood stains was like getting hit with a mac truck. But it was something that I had to face. I just sat on the floor and the memories flooded my mind. I saw Mike collapse, I saw him break his nose as he went down, I saw myself performing CPR waiting for the paramedics to arrive knowing that it was all in vain and that my sweet Michael was gone forever. I remember frantically calling family for a ride to the hospital and no one would answer. I remember calling one of his best friends because I had no where else to turn. I remember finally hearing back from family and no one seemed to understand what I was saying. No one seemed to understand that "they can not get a heartbeat" meant that he was dead. No one was able to comprehend the severity of the situation. There I was all alone knowing he was gone, while everyone else was in denial. I remember thinking "Jess you have to be strong,because you are the only one who saw him die. You have to keep it together long enough for everyone else to come in the room as see for themselves. You can't distract them from seeing with their own eyes that he is really gone".

So here I am today, at another stand still. My room is just about clean. But I cannot bring myself to sanding out those bloodstains. I feel like if I sand them out that I will be sanding out Mike. In a way I need those stains as a reminder that Mike was here, that what we had was real, that it was not just a dream. As painful as the memories are I just cannot let go because they are the last memories I have. I think that this is going to be one of those things that I hide under a rug and when I am alone and I need to remember, I can pull up that rug and see that the stains are still there and that it was real. In some odd way I need to remember the pain or the time we spent together seems like nothing more than a dream that was too good to be true.