Five seconds later, he scratches the shit out of my hand when I give him an unwelcome pat. So, I roll my eyes and share that, too, with a giggle. So are the adventures with a feral cat.
But then I falter. While I feel so wonderful for a minute, I then feel so totally devastated and guilty to have a second of peace, of happiness. A break from the reality that hurts too much.
Patrick is dead. Patrick is dead. Patrick is dead.
Get that through your head!I again scream to myself.He’s fucking dead.
Katrina must get moments of denial. At least, I pray she does because I’d love her to have a respite of any kind. Yet, it crushes me to know every second of every day is probably crushing her.
No matter how many times I try to reason with my brain, the reality never sinks in. It just can’t be true. Ten times a day, I think about something that makes me want to call him, to ask him about something. To send him a stupid meme. Even an innocent scroll through Instagram wrecks me. Because of all things? Goats.
We had a running thing about goats. Like, the crazy fainting goats, and goats screaming to Taylor Swift’s song “Trouble.” Totally stupid stuff. A post about goat yoga? He loved it all.
Today, a post about traveling to Ireland makes me want to sob.
Anytime reminders of him pop up, it’s my instinct to reach out. Yet I somehow keep forgetting that I can’t.
The many texts I’ve sent Katrina have gone unanswered, so I text her again and get nothing back.
I decide to get a bit more assertive and dial her number, expecting nothing, so I’m startled when she picks up.
“Diana.” I can hear her nearly choke.
Immediately, I sink, regretting having taken this risk. It may have been too much. “Maybe I shouldn’t have called?”
Then her voice lifts. Just a touch, but it lifts. “No, I should have called you. It’s just been too hard. How on earth to reach out to his best friend. From the day he met you…”
“Also from the day he met you.”
Katrina is pacing. I can practically see it.
Both of us take big breaths.
“Diana? What you did for me. For me, and Patrick, and our baby.” Katrina pauses. “Both of our babies. Daniella and Tommy. I truly don’t think our family would have survived without you.”
While she can’t see me, I shake my head. “You’ve proven how tough you are. You didn’t need me. But how is my little Tommy?”
There’s a long pause.
“He’s confused and sad. Clingy.”
My heart sinks. “I can come out there anytime.”
Katrina waits to reply. “Thank you. Just not yet. My family is here still. And it’s a bit much. But, yes, when things calm down?” There’s a silence that about breaks me, and I hear the emotional inhale and exhale when she finally continues, “Tommy and I need you. When I can kick out my family, it’d be great to have you here. I just don’t want to beonall the time. I can’t.”
All of this has to be too much.
“Of course. Just tell me when you’re ready.”
She must be indescribably exhausted.
I mean,I’mindescribably exhausted, and I don’t have a toddler and a dead husband.
“Can we switch to FaceTime?” she asks. “I think Tommy might like a book.”
“Yes! I think I might like a book too.” I smile and scramble to Dave’s bookshelf.
It’s become a routine for me to read a book to Tommy at least once a week. Katrina always has her print copy, and I have mine. Patrick’s kid gets to hear my voice, see my face, but also see the clear pictures his mom holds up. It’s as close to an in-person reading as we can get.
