Hospital “Welcome Home”

We picked up an old candle lit lantern at a barn fair today. It has a dark lime color and the sides of it reminded me of a window.

She loves things like those.

I do too.

She left the negotiating for the price of the things we picked up to me. She has always been better at that, but she is still having trouble talking. The other people, to their credit, didn't stare too much. The stitches are still in, and the doctor said it will still be a little bit before they come out. But she seems closer to her usual self, and for that I am thankful.

Margaret was released from the hospital a few days ago. I figured the fresh air would do her good.

I guess taking her to the barn sale was an attempt to make things normal between us. I had hoped that somehow if we fell back into a similar routine, and started doing the things we loved to do together, that it would snap her out of it.

The last few days have been the first time in almost a week that I have slept somewhere other than the hospital. It has been nice to be finally out of there, but things are hardly the same as they were before.

Margaret is...sensitive. Not to things I say per se, but she seems to listen too closely. Every time I mention what I am thinking about at that moment, more so about wanting certain things, she makes every attempt to get me them. I have stopped mentioning my desires altogether, but that seems to make her anxious. I mentioned I had been wanting some coffee cake, and she went to three different stores before she found one that she thought was adequate.

I'm not stupid. I know that what The Surgeon told her must have affected her. She feels like she has to take extra care to take care of my needs. Whether this is out of a fear of The Surgeon finishing his work, or whether she has become convinced that she had somehow failed me before, I do not know.

But I don't like it.

I love Margaret for her spirit. Her support has had its limits, but no one should have to be endure everything.

I didn't want her to be different.

Now I am the one calming her down when she has nightmares. She wakes up screaming at all hours of the night. We are going to ask to doctor to give her something to help her sleep.

I tried to call the kids today. They didn't even pick up. I shouldn't be surprised. They have their own lives of course and I can't blame them for that. Who really wants to admit that their father is crazy.

My therapist says that we should wait a little bit before we start therapy for my wife. The wounds are still healing and considering how violently people have reacted to that bastard’s “art” before, I understand his caution.

I just need to be patient. She supported me when I was at my worst. I know that if I try, I can make things right.

I...I know that the issues that made her leave...they are still there. I can't pretend that things will be the same as they were before.

For the time being, at least we are together. We are talking and I am doing what I can to confront my drinking. I have been going to meetings. I figure that if I can keep myself from drinking when things are as bad as this, then I must be doing something right.

I look out the window and I can't help but notice the gloom. The leaves are bright. The air is crisp. But the sky is dull and gray. It hasn't rained though, it just stayed gray. Like every day should be a funeral.

The way people around here react to this season is strange. When I was younger, I remember my dad showing me his old Halloween photos. The old costumes they would wear.

Those photos used to terrify me. There was something about those homemade masks and costumes, many inspired by farm life, that were just wrong.

Timelessly wrong.

They would disturb you, and the fact those photos were of normal people, just makes them even stranger.

The local Halloween stores get their business mostly from outsiders. Around here, people virtually all make their own masks and costumes, but I swear those masks look like those messed up masks of demons and dolls that I saw during my childhood.

The decorations are strange too.

Sure, some of the houses are normal, with the pumpkins and lights. The cutouts of ghosts and witches looking the same. But many of the houses have these strange symbols drawn on the door with chalk. I asked some of the customers at the restaurant, and they said that the symbols were mostly for protection. But some of them claim that some of the homes had symbols for summoning demons. Which houses had these symbols they wouldn't say. However, they claim it is all in “good fun.”

Margaret slept soundly last night. She woke up and made breakfast. A cat came to our back door. I left out some food for it.

I hear the sound of lawnmowers.