I was supposed to go to my sister’s this morning.  Her kids were home and they were doing their family Christmas together at nine.  She had a ham dinner planned for noon and I had agreed to come for the tail end of gift opening and to bring deviled eggs for the dinner.  To be completely honest, and I write this knowing she and others will read it, I only agree to see people because I think it makes them feel better.  Personally, I’d like to stay home by myself forever.  I was never much of a people person before, but now, well, it feels too difficult. But, I had agreed, and so when my alarm went off, I got out of my warm bed and got dressed, even if it was more than just a tad reluctantly.

There are a thousand things about the day that I knew would be difficult, the least of which might have been Julie’s cheesy potatoes, one of James’ favorites, but just being together with her entire family but without him was going to be harder than I even wanted to admit to myself.  But I didn’t even make it out the door before I completely lost it. 

I have, I should note, no patience with eggs.  I raise chickens and I offer to take deviled eggs to any gathering simply because I always have an abundance, but the truth is, I have no patience whatsoever for peeling them. The slightest nick in the whites, the moment I can tell the shell is only coming off in a million tiny little pieces and I am out. I’m done. Left on my own, the stubborn-shelled eggs would end up in the compost bin every time. But this, amongst every other detail of my being, was something James not only knew, but something he acted on, saving me from my own irrational anger towards eggs on many occasions.  Except, of course, this morning.  I had done everything right, in terms of making sure they would peel easily, and yet, it was like this particular task was a pre-test for the day, and I was doomed from the onset.  By the third mutilated egg, I was sobbing and I was angrier than I had been in days.  By the sixth, I was slamming the eggs on the counter and pulling them apart with no consideration to the necessity of their intact-ness, but only to my need to be done.  To just be done.  In the end, fourteen mutilated and decrepit eggs lay before me in a heap of shell and yolks and whites and I stood in my kitchen and lost it completely.

I don’t know why peeling eggs always gets to me.  I don’t know why I can have endless patience at times (I teach ten year olds for Pete’s sake) but never do I have patience with stubborn egg shells.  James would have simply taken them from my hand and spent far longer than seems appropriate peeling each and every one, leaving me to devil them up when he was finished. He knew they easily frustrated me and he never laughed at me for it, or chided me for my extreme agitation with the task, he just stepped in and did it for me.  Because he loved me.  And, perhaps, to a lesser degree, he also loved deviled eggs. 

In the end, the chickens themselves enjoyed a hearty breakfast of eggs, never minding their decrepit state and I didn’t go to my sister’s at nine. I texted my apologies and crawled back under the covers with the shades drawn and sobbed for the next couple of hours.  I finally pulled myself together later in the afternoon and made an appearance at least long enough to ease my sister’s worry.  

When I lost my mom, almost thirty years ago, I couldn’t imagine a loss that would ever hurt like that one.  But losing James has been different entirely.  He was my best friend.  He was the one who knew me better than anyone.  He was the one I would talk to, vent to, cry with.  And now, in my greatest grief, he isn’t here to help me through.  This morning I took out my frustration at the incomprehensibility of this situation on unsuspecting eggs.  This sorrow, this grief, this anger, it feels like it will consume me.  It feels like it could swallow me whole.  Very supportive and loving people try to reassure me by saying I will get through this because I am strong.  Believe me when I say, strength has nothing to do with this.  I will get through this only because I have no other choice.