It's Weird The Things

It's weird the things and emotions they dredge up. There's a regional chain restaurant at which I seldom eat. One month before Jamie died I was out of town, one of the very few trips we ever took without Jamie and even then mostly because it wasn't a vacation and we weren't sure what all the talk about a virus would mean on the trip - I ate at this chain one day while MyFella was working. I went to the website today to think about getting a light supper from there and I keep thinking, "I ate there without him." How does that work? I ate there without him? In another city. In my own city just a few blocks from my home I ate there with him once. It's not our place, it's not a place we frequent. There aren't overpowering memories of him there. Damn this grief is a bitch. On his birthday in February we had lunch at a restaurant in his town. I got up that morning and baked a box cake for him. "I'm getting cake" he said. Or something very close to it. MyJamie was a huge fan of cake. I wrapped his presents and told his sister and his brother where we were going for lunch. The waitress swooned over him. He had presents and lunch and cake. That was February. In March my daddy died, and in April MyJamie. I haven't been back to that restaurant since his birthday. There aren't as many opportunities to eat there in a pandemic, but so far I've avoided it. I've probably been there 200 or more times with him. All happy memories, if I can even distinguish them all from sheer quantity. Locally owned, waitresses who have known their whole family for decades. Waitresses who smiled and flirted with Jamie. Why couldn't I go back to a place where he was so happy, so well treated, so well loved? Of course I should be able to go back. He was loved and cared for there. Damn this grief is a bitch.