Tuesday, January 8, 2013

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.

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