More than fine.

Late this afternoon the kids and I decided to brave the warm summer sun and walked the 4 blocks to the row of shops that border our leafy neighborhood-there's a bakery, a chiropractor, a dollar store and a deli. We were stalked by our member of local government who as usual pounced on me to see how the kids were doing, were they excited about starting school, and they had a quiz to name a statue that he had pins of. They got the pins even though they answered wrong.

He asked how we were doing, I said fine.

The funniest thing in the world to me right now. I suppose I could have entertained him with a litany of news. My husband died a week ago but it's okay because we separated in April and then again in May and the minister is now living with us because I half had an affair with him for the past ten years and I just recovered from the beating I received at the hands of my ex and I'm currently attempting to rebuild my happy go lucky/wild/enthusiastic self without resorting to any more alcohol and my kids had DNA tests even. Like Holy #$%^&*!

But sometimes 'fine' is the better choice.

It really is.

God love me. I'm a Jerry Springer show.

Home.

Still going. I'm the energizer bunny. Thankfully I'm just not angry like I was this morning. Instead I am tired. Just very tired. Worn out. Possibly coming down with the flu.

The memorial is over. Thank God. They did a great job, Cole's..OUR friends all put aside their judgements that they had leveled against each other and against me and created an unforgettable tribute to him. A fitting one. Lots of funny stories. Tons of pictures passed around. A nod to his talent, constant reassurance that he would live on forever through his much-admired work and through our children. The magnificent effort of so many to tell those stories without touching too heavily on me, as I have been there beside him since he was nineteen years old. Some of his genius borne out of various overwhelming moments of joy or pain with me. The temperamental artist and his faithful muse.

I pegged this as the hardest day but it isn't and for that I'm grateful. I'm grateful also for the random hugs from friends, the offers of help, hell the offers of continued friendship from a group of guys who have put up with me and my wildness for so long they are family. And I'm grateful for the comments, emails and the real live snail mail cards from reader friends who have no idea how much they really mean to me. Thank you.

I want to write that I'm not going to talk about Cole here anymore but on second thought I don't want to make a promise I can't keep. Some days I don't know where my entry is going until it's there.

Guess where I'm going now?

Never ever ask someone how they're doing an hour before. Never. Trust me.

Maybe I should write a handbook for ungracious widows.

Seriously. There is no place to put the uncivilized, disrespectful thoughts. The ones going through my head as I prepare to leave for the memorial *ahem* retrospective. The thoughts that say I had the last laugh after all of Cole's bullshit over the years. All the tears I shed for that man, the pain and humiliation and the doormat that I was to him. So where do you go to acknowledge being glad he is gone and positively disgusted to realize that you miss him? That you still love him?

Ack! I know. I know. I'm horrible.

Where do I put the euphorical ohmygodthemortgagewillbepaidoff thoughts with the ''who the hell is going to upgrade the wiring now and who will reassure me that the house will not burn down if we don't get to it right away" thoughts?

Where do I go to point out how hard I tried to love that man?

Where do I get the rights to make decisions on his behalf when I was so afraid of him I couldn't control the shaking? How does anyone expect me to do any of this according to his wishes? What about my wishes?

Oh , Bridge. Hello, you WISHED HE WAS DEAD.

I did, didn't I?

I'm not sorry I did that and I won't apologize for it. He'll get a last heaping dose of my petulance. He loved the lower lip sticking out, the refusal to talk to him when he was being awful. Here you go, Cole. He was human. I ruined something in him and I don't know what it was. I think I built up his badness and he had such big shoes to fill he became what I thought he was. And he used it to tear me down.

God help me if I do that again.

But.

I don't think I will.

For one thing, and oh yes, let's compare notes, shall we? Today of all days let's just stand them up side by side and share the details. No, just one.

Jacob has confidence in himself that Cole never ever had. No one believes me. It's true. So possibly he might emerge intact from falling down this rabbit hole into my world. Possibly. It's hard to tell. This morning Jacob told me if he could he would shield me from all of this and I would never have a sad, or scared thought in this world ever again.

Well, we all know what happens when you try to put Bridget in a box. To keep her safe. To keep her to yourself.

She bolts. She lets her heart wander away even though she's standing right next to you still.

Oddly this time there is exactly no place to go. The escape is here. Fantasy has collided with reality and I wound up with everything.

Take that to the afterlife you fucking asshole.

    Cross my heart hope to die
    Never meant to make you cry

Taking inventory (more foolish daydreaming).

Because Jacob makes very good coffee while I talk to myself. He's happy I'm talking at all. Prattling even.

Fragile Miss Bridget's 96-hour bender appears to be officially over. Not willingly, mind you. In all honesty I would have forgone reality altogether but again, Jake took away all the liquid escapism and even the pills again and left me with this rawness that hurts when the wind touches it.

If you cover it up it will never heal, you beautiful mess, you.

Why does he do this? Oh yes, to push me forward. Onward, you idiot. Get moving. Get better. Get a grip on yourself and be a proper mother because you are all those kids have. And you are all he wants.

Right, okay. Faces are washed, breakfast is made. I am scrubbed and shining and wearing jeans and a shirt. Buttons again! Braids. Jacob came in with coffee and nodded his approval because when you're drunk, dresses half fall off sometimes which is lovely, and he gave me aspirin. I swore at him because I am such a bitch sometimes.

Instead of laughing at me he asks if he can have the ten year designation a bit early. He wants to claim ownership. I know, feminists cringe. Oh shut up. He's tired of everyone knowing me as Cole's wife.

What the fuck?

Oh hell. The most confident man I have ever met in my entire life is asking me for validation? For reassurance? Kind of like looking for shelter within a house of cards. Did he think I had taken the easy way out by leaving Cole to be with him? I point out the uncharacteristic lack of confidence in that statement from Jacob.

He just shrugged. Shaken again because of me. I should be so lucky as to not ruin everyone I love somehow. Seriously. The 'It's not you, it's me.' statement people use? Well, it's me. By far.

Of course he can. He has it. I told him it was only after the requisite decade did I ever allow myself to claim ownership of a feeling, obviously. It's funny how this long a time afterwards we both still remember our first real conversation, word for word. How naively I hung on to that decade with Cole that I had just accomplished like some sort of endurance marathon, and I held that up as the standard by which all relationships should be compared.

Hell, not like our relationship is really any less dysfunctional, most of it so far spent in total lust and complete denial, and yet if you ever saw us make dinner together or argue efficiently, you would guess we had been married for a hundred years.

It will be so perfect if only we are now given half a chance to enjoy it for what it is and what it should be. I can't even imagine life without Cole's presence looming over me. I can't. More denial which Jacob ripped the lid off because he's in a hurry. And after tomorrow is over with we can begin. The hundred year storybook marriage in complete love that I wished for so badly my whole life and I can't imagine it with anyone else, ever. I can't breathe at the thought of all that happiness within reach once and for all. He is holding his breath too. I'm touched beyond belief that he even still wants me, us, at all.

I just need strength to get through tomorrow first. I didn't want the grieving widow designation. So I won't claim it. Honestly I had wished Cole would just die so many times over I am exceeding careful of what I wish now. The memorial is not for me. It's not for Jake. It's for Ruth, Henry and all of Cole's extended family and friends. The ones who knew him as the loving father, helpful son, talented artist, the crazy musician, the passionate guy who boasted so loudly of his beautiful wife to total strangers even, the guy with the work ethic that never ever quit. They can have it. I won't argue. I'll sit passively and not openly cringe while they ignore the Cole I knew and instead exalt the virtues of the Cole they knew. That Cole was a very cool guy. I wished I could have known him. He was quite the superstar of our little universe.

But since I didn't, I will join Jacob and just pray to get through the day. Hurry hurry.

Jacob didnt conduct the service. At the last minute I think he decided I was to trashed to sit upright and so he sat with us and let me lean against him and enjoyed the heck out of Carolyn's sermon instead.

Afterward. I got a zagillion hugs. So nice. I would pay for those. Wonderful.

The feelings are going. It's not reverse homesickness or whatever. It's fear. The fear is going. Still drunk though. But just durnka nd not scared. I have to stop that. I can't be drunk this week. Too much to do. Memorial on Tuesady. It grew before my eyes. Cole has so many friends. None of whom can blame him for his craziness because of me. And they love me too. The kids, jake. Weird.
His office. God I can;t do this.

I asked Jake if he still wanted to marry me. He laughed and said no. Not until I'm sober again. He said he's going to out a limit on my foolishenss and I cant blame him. So I'm going to go dance on a table now and finish out the night and then tomkorrow I'm not touching anything. So hoepfully by Tues morning things will have evened iout.

Oh and hell yes have a few more highballs before church. There's a good idea you stupid girl.

Note to self. Always keep appropriate memorial service outfits ready to wear so you don't get caught with nothing. I can't borrow anything. The smallest size offered was an 8. I'm a zero. Ha. Yes I am. A big fat jittery zero.

Oh and if someone gives you a letter that they write in the darkest hour of their life? Don't rip it up in case they die later on. You never know.

Fuck.

Down like a ton of bricks.

An easy-to-manage ton. The sun came up. I went to the door of the den, opened it and couldn't seem to go anywhere. So I called for help.

Jake.

Jacob met me with a cup of coffee and a fierce hug. I pressed my left ear to his left ear and I could feel his heart beating. He ran his hands through my hair and told me everything would be okay.

It was permission to fall apart. His, mine, ours.

I lost whatever frayed string of sanity I was swinging from all week long.

Oh lovely. Brutal. Ugly. I swayed and was held up. Jacob didn't let go, he held me tighter and I dissolved into nothing. He got both of us rather gracefully down to the floor and sat and held me so tightly and I held on right back. We missed calls, doorbells, appointments and just held each other. My legs were asleep and I didn't care. We both cried. It's done. Over. No more court dates, no waiting to be divorced. No worries about what Cole will do down the road. Done. He took it all with him.

I'll take it as a gift, among other things that have happened since he died. Many surprises.

Jake?

Yeah, Bridge?

I really expected to throw things.

Yeah, I expected you to throw things too. maybe break stuff.

I'm glad I didn't.

The day is young, Bridge, the day is young. And I love you.

I love you too.

Oh oh oh the sun is going down, the birds are chirping their goodnights. I called the kids to say goodnight, they love an adventure. There's no need for them to be here to see me incapacitated by their father's death. Nope. Happier times to be had someday.

My day is drawing to a close. It took forever yet again. I heard them placing wagers as to when the alcohol will hit again, I have found some weird plateau in a forty of Absolut. I can't bring myself to have anymore yet I have had enough to bring down a large man. Interesting. Of course, I'm not standing up anytime soon.

The best thing about today is the plateful of pad kee mao that was just slid under my nose. I see Jake is bringing out the heavy artillery. Thai food.

My goal for overnight is to attempt to sleep and not make an ass out of myself on the internet or in my house. Oh and the Vicodin is back. God bless whoever makes this shit and no please don't say a word about washing it down with vodka. I know.

I'm still here. Thank you for the kind comments. They mean more than the platitudes making the rounds in my living room.

The cognac ran out after midnight and I was made to suffer miserably, loudly, indignantly, until Jacob finally gave up the location of the vodka. I listened to nothing else. I see I'm going to have to ration it. We'll see. I don't think he'll give me anymore. So much for the pain-free drunken stupor I had planned. A four day bender? For one, please. Just don't touch me, for I will shatter. Don't worry, he's watching from a safe distance, right outside the door. Ready to catch me when I fall so spectacularly. Wait for it.

But for now, even half-drunk I have responsibilities. I have to sign papers and make plans. I have to be steered everywhere because I don't know the protocol here. Not familiar. I have to return a dozen phone calls and I'm too broken to talk out loud. Good to have a minister in the house because sadly Jacob knows exactly what to do and who to call. Is this my karma?

I'm lucid though. I managed to have a shower. I could button buttons. Stupid things. I managed to hug my kids as they left for a sleepover at PJ's mom's house. I don't feel like eating. Or speaking. Or moving, really. I'm still alive and really if you had placed your bets knowing what you know about Cole he should be the one still breathing and I should be the one who died.

I managed to not rip Jacob's face off when he came back last night for being away too long. I need help. Jake's helping. He was off making so many of the immediate arrangements so I don't have to. So that he could be here today for when the shit hits the fan and Bridget falls apart. Everyone thinks I'm so fucking strong. I'm not strong. Oh my God I'm like paper in the fucking wind. The kind that blows into a tree and the tree doesn't budge an inch. Not even in a tornado. Jake is the tree. And I'm almost plastered again, blissfully. And Cole, Cole is still dead. When will it be real? I know when-when that weird homesick feeling stops. The one that has been there since April. When will it stop and what the hell is it?

I can kill whole freaking WEEKS in here. I'm going to finish the vodka and read the internet. The worst thing is that I can't shut off the noise. Inside my head I'm screaming and I can't shut it off.