Splinters

Sometimes a small thing packs the mightiest punch. Like a splinter, embedded just beneath the surface of your skin. Sometimes, you can’t even see it unless you look really closely. But you know something is there because it hurts like a son of a gun. There are small things all around me, in every single room, just waiting to be found...just waiting to find me. And when I come across one, it gets under my skin, and I immediately feel the pain of its presence. Because its presence makes Anthony’s absence so real. 

Like his razor...How many times did I watch Anthony shave that beautiful, handsome face of his? He’d look at me, through the mirror and wink, knowing I was staring at him the way a love-struck school girl stares at that dreamy looking boy sitting in the seat next to her. I’d sneak his razor into the shower, so I could use it to shave my legs, and then I’d put it back before he knew it was missing. But, somehow, he’d always know. When he’d ask me if I was using his razor again, I’d smile that smile he couldn’t resist, and he’d just shake his head and laugh at me. Did he know I used it just because it was his?...Just because it was the razor he held...the razor that shaved that beautiful face of his? Now I can use it whenever I want...but it’s not the same because he isn’t here to use it, too.

He’s not here to use his fancy ultrasonic toothbrush, either. He loved that thing. How many times did I see it, charging in its cradle on the countertop, next to his sink? The last few times I’ve glanced at it, an immediate flashback of Anthony standing there, brushing his teeth, has filled my mind. So, I changed the head and replaced it with a new brush and tried it. Huh....Now I know why he liked it so much. So, do I plug it in on my side, next to my sink, or leave it where it’s always been...on his side, next to his soap dish?

His soap dish...another splinter. How many nights will I have to get ready for bed without Anthony? How many times will I stand at my sink and look over at his and see...nothing? I won’t see him take his special bar of soap...lavender or almond or mint...and lather up his hands and wash his face before coming to bed. I won’t see him do that ever again. Should I leave his soap dish next to his sink? Do I leave the half-used bar of soap in it? If I stand over his sink and wash my hands and face there...with the soap from his soap dish...do I dare look in the mirror and see reality...the reflection of myself where his should be?

Do I dare open his medicine cabinet? Do I risk my heart being broken yet again and again with every item I see...each bottle of his cologne...a styptic  pencil...his deodorant...some Benadryl? No, I don’t have to open it. I have a pretty good idea of what’s in there and where each item sits on the shelf. And each one still bears his touch...It’s like each one holds a piece of him in some strange way. I’m not ready to go digging around in there and pulling anything from its spot.

Anthony died one month ago, today. I can’t say I’m OK, because I’m not. I’m sad all the time. I either sleep too much, or not at all. Sometimes, I eat and  sometimes, I don’t. Much of the time, I don’t answer the phone because I can’t talk without crying. As if things aren’t bad enough, every time one of these splinters pries its way under my skin, the pain of my grief paralyzes me.  So, what should I do with all of them...all of these splinters? Should I leave them right where they are and feel the pain of their presence each time I move, each time I breathe? If I take them out, one by one, will their absence leave a gaping hole in my heart? Will plucking them out discard yet one more piece of Anthony from my life and send him further and further away? 

I’m thinking that maybe I need to leave things alone right now. As strange as it may sound, it feels safer to just leave the splinters where they are...at least, for today. Even though it hurts to move and breathe and live with them embedded in me, just the thought of pulling them out seems more painful than I can bear right now. Maybe later, when I’m ready, I’ll take a deep breath and pluck one out. Then, I’ll wait until the emptiness heals up and the soreness goes away before thinking about going after the next one.  

I don’t think I’m going to stop hurting any time soon, splinters or no splinters. I know it’s only been one month, so I shouldn’t be expecting a whole lot anyway. But, Anthony’s life was so enmeshed with mine, and mine with this, that I have a feeling my heart will be pierced, again and again, by lots of splinters that show up in lots of different places. I also have a feeling I’m going to be finding splinters for a long, long time.