I’m a Stranger Here Myself

Years ago, I did a cabaret show that included the Kurt Weill song, “I’m a Stranger Here Myself.” If ever those words rang true, it is now.

I feel like an alien, a zombie (not that I know what a zombie actually does or does not feel).

If I hear “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” one more time in a shopping mall, I will go postal. Yes, I have done all my Christmas shopping and have wrapped most of the gifts. “Fake it till you make it,” as someone said.

The world feels like a dangerous place, a place that offers no security now that my security blanket is gone. Yes, Lorin was my only security blanket in an unpredictable and often cruel world.

I started a list of “Things I Miss About Lorin,” which includes:

(1) How he told me, “I love you,” several times a day and always insisted on a hug before he departed for work.

(2) How he would grab me and start dancing with me in the kitchen while I was cooking and not let me go.

(3) His telling me, “All I need is the love of the Sweetie.” One of his nicknames for me was “Sweetie.”

I’ve come to the realization that no one needs me anymore, except, perhaps, my mom. Lorin needed me. It was good to be needed. It was good to be co-dependent, if that’s what it was. I don’t care. It worked for us, and we were happy.

I haven’t been able to cook or bake since Lorin died. He was grateful for all the meals I prepared for him and even bragged to his co-workers about the lunches I prepared for him. I made extra Christmas cookies so he could have his own tin. He thanked me for every meal, every cookie, even a frozen dinner. I miss having him to cook for, and how grateful he was for every culinary offering.

I made a spontaneous decision to go to New York this weekend to visit my mom and Lorin’s grandmother on Long Island since I won’t be able to see them for Christmas. I need to connect with people who need me (Mom) and loved Lorin (his grandmother). It makes me feel closer to him. I also have a keen sense of my mortality right now. Why wait?

In the evening, I light candles in the living room and in our bedroom, hoping he’ll see them.

This afternoon, I talked to a couple of turtles at the marsh, and asked if they had seen Lorin. No reply.

I said, “Well, if you do, tell him to come and see me.”

Lorin loved animals, turtles included. He said he wanted to die in Savannah. I wish he had lived here too.

13 thoughts on “I’m a Stranger Here Myself

  1. This left a lump in my throat. I’d feel the same way if my husband died. I feel for you, Erica. You write with poignancy, conveying the struggle without sentimentality. You experience your pain as it is, without indulgence. I admire you as much as I dislike the conditions that reveal your admirable character, the woman so loved by Lorin. I pray he comes to you in your dreams, in your waking moments to remind you of his presence, to tell you again how much he loves his sweetie, and for you to speak to him, to help you as you move forward. My thoughts remain with you.

    Like

  2. I think this runs even deeper with some followers of your blog because we knew of Lorin from your blog. So it is like we’ve lost a friend. I pray you find strength.

    Like

  3. Erica, I’m glad you can write this yet I so hate why you’re writing this. You have a great gift and I hope in time it helps you to heal. This piece left me mute to comment for days. My hear goes out to you so much.
    You and Lorin shared a very special beautiful love. Lorin did brag about you, his Sweetie, all the time. I hope you can feel his presence this holiday.

    Like

  4. There is so much grieving and sadness unfolding afterwards, as well as different perspectives.
    Be with it … keep breathing and being here.
    I hope you brought thermals for NY and Long Island! It’s been seriously cold.
    Sending you a ((hug))
    Val xoxo

    Like

  5. I am sorry for your loss. Sending you some love and light. Grief is a terrible process and some losses just never heal. But if we give it a chance we might just be surprised. Thanks for your visit to my blog.

    Liked by 1 person

Your Thoughts

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s