I never had a clue as to how deeply I would be affected by the sight of a screwdriver, until somewhere around 20 to 30 minutes ago. The craziest thing occurred over the last couple of years that I wasn't aware of, as well. And as well as that comes the blindsiding reality that I had not even been around anyone that had a screwdriver (for whatever reason) in the last 2 years. When Steven picked up a screwdriver about 30 to 35 minutes ago, I said, "Don't f*ing show that to me. Babe that's not fair". Then, I cried uncontrollably until a couple minutes ago.
For those of you who may be unaware, I will let you in on the reason behind my falling apart over a screwdriver. Simply, I am completely convinced that the woman who was driving stabbed Jeremy in the back of his head with a screwdriver just before the rolling of the Acura caused her to be ejected through the windshield.
I'm hoping that is a clear enough explanation that I don't have to say anything past that. I have dealt with every other aspect of my husband's death, except the part where I break down the first time I see a screwdriver in over 2 years. I didn't know until earlier that I even had an emotional problem with a silly screwdriver, but when I saw Steven holding one I knew I would have to learn to be "okay with" something so miniscule as that.