Labor

Today is Labor Day. It's a hard day for me because it is the first "holiday" without Colby. Traditionally, Colby and I drove around Nashville sometime on Labor Day weekend and visited all the places we once lived. There are eight former homes spread from Kingston Springs (about 20 miles west of Nashville) into Nashville itself. The drive usually took an entire afternoon and we'd always stop somewhere and eat, sharing memories of the various houses and events that took place in them.

All weekend I debated making the drive myself and finally I decide I am not ready. I'd feel Colby's loss too painfully. I'd cry the entire time. I realize that with Colby gone I have no one to share these memories with and I cry anyway. The crying gives way to irritation, with me, with life, with nothing in particular, so I go into my backyard and begin pulling down vines that have engulfed the line of trees at the back of the lot. Since Colby passed, I haven't done much yard work and I pull vines with vengeance. Vines down, I attack branches with clippers and saw, then spot clumps of iris that need dividing, so I dig. Finally, I hack several low gardening stools together from some scrap wood and paint them. By this time it is long past dark.

Now I sit and write. I try not to shake because after the shaking comes the crying. I take deep breaths and concentrate on the letters that appear on the screen. I must stay busy; I must not think. I am grateful that today's holiday is a small one. It was good practice for Colby's birthday (September 30), and the bigger holidays coming up this fall: Thanksgiving and Christmas. I must plan major projects for those days. Big projects with lots of physical labor that will take me from sunrise to the day's end. I hear that the first holidays are the worst. I got through this one. Somehow I will get through the rest.