9/15/73

Thinking it would be a kindly gesture to take a recent widower out for a few drinks, my co-workers David and Henley insisted we go to Walkers after the store closed. We talked sporadically and in bursts about anything but the fact that my wife was dead. A forced joviality pervaded the evening and no doubt contributed- along with the 5 shots of j.d.- to my vomiting the minute I got home. I dreamed of walking by the lake that was near my childhood home, and with each lap tying another stone to my neck. When I could barely crawl from the weight of the rocks, I made my way into the water.

9/2/73

And how long has it been since the funeral? A day? A month? Not even sure if I have gone to work or if I have been at home this past week. Folks stop by, bringing casseroles and embarrassed faces- no one knows quite what to say or do. I am the one being consoled, but I almost feel worse for them: stopping by to see a sad little man who has lost his wife and now doesn’t have a clue on how to exist on his own. I keep a dazed, stupid little smile on my face when company arrives, hoping to assure everyone that I am fine……life is for the living life is for the living, repeat this : life is for the living.

8/18/73

she passed this morning: one moment the sheet was rising and falling, the next moment silence, her chest was empty. there was no hurry to call anyone, to jump up and down, she was gone. i smoked a cigarette on the porch..tried to stare at the sun….found myself laughing quietly.

8/13/1973

Rebecca’s the same: not better, not worse. She seems to have a fever, but it is hard to tell as she has the covers wrapped around her entire body….I bring her food and leave it on the tray, but she is always sleeping. however, when I (unreadable) back later, the food has been devoured.

bills to pay, so i leave R with her good friend, and I continue to go in to work. Have not let my co-workers know and manage to keep it together at work, but know that if anything happens to rebecca, my world will shrink to the size of a teacup. starting to wonder if she will ever wake up……….

8/9/1973

Rebecca is ill, has been laid up in the master bedroom for sometime with a chronic fever. The doctor comes daily, but is at a loss as for a cause, other than to say “Seems like she is about the same.” When I suggest the hospital, she goes quiet and only says “I don’t think it has come to that yet.” Not sure what to do with myself, other than to smoke incessantly and pace our long porch. The thought of her not being here with me turns me inside out.