This post is linked up with Lisa-Jo Baker's Five Minute Friday.

Tree

Ready, get set, GO!

When I think of a tree, I always think of that little acorn. 

Such a lowly beginning, having been abandoned by its mother, thrown to the ground, left to survive, thrive, or die all alone, one little tiny acorn.  But through the years, the acorn sheds it’s skin, silently realizing it’s true potential.  The potential to become a great oak tree.  

And so it struggles, sometimes for several years before it finally starts to take root, growing, struggling, finally finding a path through the debris of fallen life, tentatively sending down it’s dreams into the ether of the netherworld, stretching to find that one tiny little nugget of nourishment.  Hoping , waiting  in expectation for that one second when it’s legs reach a perfect spot, created just for it, and then Eureka!  It is done, it has found it’s heart.  The heart of the great tree that is to come, made up of many things that died before it, only left for it alone to nourish the great expanse of canopy that opens to the heavens.  

It is a tree.

So, who am I?

That seems to be the burning question for most if not all widows.  But really, it's an easy question to answer.  I am me.  I haven't changed, but my circumstances have changed, alot.  So how will I react to them?  I will have to change eventually to fit my new circumstances. So what kinds of changes will I make?

 I also feel like half of me is gone.  But really, I'm still a whole person, I just don't know how to react like a whole person anymore.  After years of marriage, we learn to act as half of a whole.  Now I have to relearn how to act as a whole.  It's going to be hard, granted.  And probably at times not at all fun.  In fact, probably most times just downright sad.  But learn it I will, if I want to have any chance at actually living the rest of my life.

I feel also that I've lost most of my love.  But on further reflection, I realize that isn't true.  If anything, my love has grown.  I still love my children, my grandchildren, and the rest of my family, and I love my friends.  And my love for my husband has grown, even though he's not here.  But it's a different type of love now.  It's a love filled with gratitude.  Gratitude because without him, I wouldn't be who I am right now.  He did help shape the person I am.  How could he not?  I lived with him for 27 years, of course he shaped me.  But, as a whole person, I realize that I had to allow that shaping to happen.  I could have refused at any time, but loving him, I allowed the changes to happen in my life, and thank goodness I did.  So, now, the question becomes:  what do I do with this love?

I need to move on.  But do I want to move on.  Therein lies the real question.  What do I want?  I want to be happy.  I want to live a full life.  I don't know right now if that is possible, but I'm going to give it all I've got and see what happens.

Until next time.

The Ugly Truth

I know I haven't posted in a long while.  It's been a tiring journey from the last post to here.  I lost my husband two and a half months ago.  I never really gave much thought to being a widow.  Who does?

I'm doing ok, I think.  I'm kind of waiting for the 'stages' of grief to hit.  I've been numb, so that's kind of a stage.  I've never gone through denial, although for a few weeks I kept thinking surely I would wake up and find that this was all a bad dream, and Tom would be in the living room, sitting in his chair, snoring, lol.  I used to giggle at his snoring, and sometimes, I complained about it, loudly.  But yes, he did snore.  I miss that noise now. I've not had any anger.  I wonder alot about that.  How could I possibly be angry with this man who taught me how to love?  How could I be angry at him when he fought with every single breath to stay with me?  How could I possibly be angry at a man who made my life complete, and happy, and full, and safe?

He was sick for a little over a year, really sick that is.  It was an infection that finally got him.  I had gone from living with the love of my life, to living with that same man, but he was different.  Gone was the strong, tall, gorgeous drink of water that I had loved, and in his place, was a gentle, loving, much older man, weak, but loving me with every inch of his being.  And I loved him back.  The weaker and older he got, the more our love grew.  Who knew it would be that way?

So, now I'm a widow.  I remember clearly thinking the day of his funeral that I was putting on my 'widow's weeds'.  That hasn't changed, and it won't.  Everything is widow's weeds.  I wear my widowhood now daily.  And I wonder what I am supposed to be doing as a widow.  At this point, I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing.  People tell me to be patient, but life has shown me how precocious it is, and I'm not sure patience is something that is within me at this point.  My father would say patience is a virtue, but I'm sure I have none of it.  So forward I go, every day a new experience, every day a surprise.  Every day dreaded as I go into the night before, knowing I will sleep without that snore waking me.  And when I wake in the morning, that split second before being fully awake, my mind listens.  I'm listening for his breathing.  It's not there.

Until next time.