Loss and Love

I came to a stop at the four way stop sign.  For whatever reason, I looked at the cars, and I began wondering "What is the purpose?".  I have asked this question before, but I am a religious person, so I let my teachings answer; however, in that moment, when I felt all alone in my earthly presence, I questioned my purpose. We are born, we love and then we die. What IS the point to all of that?  I know I am a servant of God, but until I felt this heartache, this complete loneliness and longing for my husband, I went about my life as a servant, to God, to my family and to others when I could.  I felt incredibly small in that moment as awareness of the others here, there and around the world infiltrated my thoughts.  I have had moments like this in the past, but not this intense.  I could not have been at the stop sign for more than 15 seconds, but those 15 seconds were powerful.

It is the little things that I miss most about my husband.  You all have heard that a million times as I have, but the little things become magnified.  My husband was so good to call me on his way home from work everyday to ask if I needed or wanted anything.  I always asked for a Diet Coke from my favorite place, and sometimes I would include a request for ice cream, his favorite, so we could have a bowl in the evenings.  It makes me cry now thinking about it.  My husband was not necessarily demonstrative in his affections, but these small everyday things showed so much of his love.  I feel guilty that I didn't thank him enough.  His death has created much guilt for me when I try to remember if I told him along the way, how much those things meant to me.  He went to work everyday to take care of us and he never complained.  He came home to us and then me alone everyday never wanting to be anywhere else. And we may not have had major conversations everyday, but his mere presence was enough.  When he was first diagnosed, I would swing in my backyard during the day and try to imagine my life alone, but the reality is so much more cruel than the pretend.  I cannot not stress enough how unprepared I really was for his absence.

I feel as though I float through the days.  I have moments of joy.  I am busy with the daily things of life.  But I continue to have those times when I miss him more than I can bear.  I search through my house for reminders.  Not pictures as they are sometimes too painful to view, but a pen he wrote with, or a recording in a message or a smell on his clothes.  I found it difficult to remove Christmas decorations from his office, but I finally just made myself do it as the tears came wave upon wave upon wave.  I developed shingles about a week before my husband died, and during such emotional moments, they flare, so I have physical reminders of it all.  The light in those moments, is exhaustion usually follows and I can collapse to take a much needed nap, or I can go to bed and actually sleep through the night.

So much of who I am was wound with who he was.  How do I begin to unwind?  I had a career and it was fulfilling, but I have not worked in five years.  How do I find a new life at this age?  He was my confidence.  He was my sounding board.  He didn't laugh at some of my ideas like my children do sometimes.  He knew me.  He knew to be quiet for a time, and then he would ask questions that would help me see reason or give me the purpose to explore.  I no longer have that and must rely solely on myself.  This is frightening to me as I tend to either act too quickly, almost on impulse, or I take forever to decide what to do next.  I am crippled sometimes by fear of making a wrong decision that will cost me time or money or both.  I try now to think about what he would say or do, but then I remember once again he is gone.  I get emotional and I shut down.  I am struggling with how to even prepare for my life a month from now much less a year from now. Where do I begin?

I have a group of friends who are widowed or have been single most of their lives.  The widows understand completely, and I do appreciate what they have to share, but it does not take my husband's place at the end of day.  I must come home to an empty house.  I take care of the pets and household alone and my sorrows are mine alone.  My happiness is sometimes riddled with guilt or maybe just sadness that he is no longer here to share in the same happiness. My daughter includes me in much of their daily lives, and I don't turn any offer down, but sometimes it just makes me sad as I see families-whole families with children, parents and grandparents-enjoying the same outing.  My mind drifts to the times we had like that but will never have again.  I try to focus on the moment.  It is very difficult to do so.  It's like telling a sick person to live in the moment. What does that really mean?  When someone is facing death because of their illness, life is waking everyday with that knowledge.  It cannot be erased.  Sure, we tried to live a normal life, but for my husband it was all he could do to get up every morning, go to work so he could provide for me, come home and pretend to feel ok, go to bed and get up and start again. Can you imagine the energy it took for him to do that?  I know how much energy it took for me to make life comfortable for us without dwelling on the inevitable.  

Today is a new day.  Sunday's seem to be my worst days emotionally.  I am not sure why.  I will be busy today with more financial matters, probate and such, and the mundane little things I do around my house that for whatever reason gives me comfort.  I will get through this as others have. Time is my enemy.  One day it will be my friend again.