The guys are at Nolan's, all of them, playing with their motorcycles,
barbecuing dinner. The kids are in bed and I decided I wanted my ring
back.
There's two little screws holding the box together and my
hands are too jittery and the whole thing dumped out on the kitchen
table. Jacob is dumped out on the kitchen table, which is too much for
my head and I may implode here any minute. I had to come out and shut
the doors and leave him there. On the table. He's on the table and I
can't touch my ring, I can't even go into the room.
On. the. table. Oh god. I've messed up.
I
called Sam but he's at church, not answering his phone at the end of
the evening service and I'm just about too embarrassed and panicked to
call anyone else so yes, googling the best way to ah, Christ, get the
ashes back into the box is not the way you want to spend your night
especially when you know you can't even touch them. I can't bring myself
to and I don't know what to do. Jacob would know what to do. But I
didn't ask the table because the table won't talk to me. The table gave
me up. I briefly thought I would get the vacuum but oh my God, no.
Freaking out. My God, why didn't I just not wake up today?
I
can't call Ben. That would be dumb. I don't know how he would
understand. I think he was relieved when I left this morning because he
knew I wouldn't be wearing my ring anymore, how am I supposed to tell
him I wasn't up for it after all? Better yet, how am I supposed to ask
him for help in getting Jacob's ashes from the table back into the box?
I'd laugh but this is not funny. It should be but it isn't. And I thought I was strong but I'm not.
