The journey through grief is a wild ride. It ranges from the most brutal and treacherous blows that life has to offer to the most beautiful of moments. And in between you even get the full spectrum of mundane. It’s strange to say it, but it’s a gift to finally get to the point of healing when you start experiencing the mundane. Mundane is what the newly bereaved ache for. They cry out wishing for the mundane parts of life back, wishing for the chance to have that one last argument, or that Friday night doing the dishes and folding laundry and bickering about the right way to fold the clothes.
I am a widow of two years and 8 months. And in December will come the moment that I will have been widowed longer than I was married. I do not look forward to that day. That day hurts me already. It’s not fair. I find myself thinking that it shouldn’t have been him. I am hurt when I watch the news and hear about the despicable acts of someone who lived long enough to steal away loved ones from countless of people. I get angry because I don’t understand why that person got to live when my husband had to die. I find myself thinking why him, why not me… I start to feel as though he could have contributed to this world so much more than I ever could. I wonder what the hell am I doing here?
I recently made a life change that has been very hard for me to adjust to. Why has it been so hard? Honestly, I’m still working on that. Without my therapist it’s so much harder to work through things than it was with him. My therapist saved my life in ways. Not literally. I was not on the brink. But because of him, I became whole again. Because of him, I had unconditional, honest, compassionate support and that allowed me to heal. That allowed me to find myself. That allowed me to learn to look deeply within myself and dissect who I think I am so that I could find myself. I have moved and no longer have him to walk with me through my life, my grief, my growth. I miss him.
I am a widow of two years and eight months… and the pain doesn’t go away. It is not paralyzing anymore, and for that I am grateful. It is not agonizing… most of the time. But it is in my bones, in my veins. I am a widow and this is part of my identity. It is not all of who I am, or even the most prominant part of me. I am a mother, that is the most important part of who I am. But I am a widow and, to me, that is as much a part of me as being a wife was when my husband was alive.
But what I am above all else is a mom. And the only real piece I have left of my husband is my daughter. She’s three and a half. She’s amazing. The bond I have with that little girl is stronger than it ever would have been if he hadn’t died so suddenly the way he did. That is not a silver lining, by no means is that some silver lining that makes this terrible loss ok, but rather I feel like it is the universe balancing things out. We no longer have him, so to each other we are everything.
I miss my husband so much. He is still part of my life and part of me, that will not change. I find myself getting angry because it is not fair that I don’t have him with me. It is not fair that he left. I get angry with him sometimes because he left. And I know he didn’t choose this, his body simply quit. It betrayed him. It betrayed me. I counted on him. I loved him. I still need him. I miss him. And I love him so so much, and always will. So why did I draw the short straw here? What did I do? What did he do? I, to my knowlege, never did anything to anyone to justify this! So WHY?
It can be so hard to process everything. And as a widow, life is not the same as it is for everyone else. For everyone else, emotions seem to be tied to the current events of their lives. For a widow, it’s so much more complicated than that. And I know that all of these questions I find myself asking are unfair to me, because the answer is that I didn’t do anything to call this upon myself and neither did my husband. This is just a thing that happened. That’s all it is. And it just so happens that this thing that happened, happened to him. Happened to everyone who loved him. That is the truth. But I can’t help but ask. I can’t help but feel. I can’t help but die a little inside, because it is hurting again. And I hope to get relief soon. But it hurts.