I met a man yesterday who said he lost his wife three years ago. He said it gets easier, much easier, but you never really “get over” it. I can see that. I think its kind of like being an amputee. You learn to live without that limb, can function and even have a decent life, but its not like you don’t miss that limb or wonder how your life would have been different had you not lost it.
I’m sure there’s grief to deal with, too, when you lose a body part.
So right now I’m functioning. Working, playing, etc. But a big part of me and what has made me who I am is gone. Nothing fills that void. I’m not very motivated to be terribly social right now, either. I just don’t have the energy
In a funny way, it seems like I’m only beginning to really ache for Mike. The shock, the blur, the numbness is finally worn off. Life has a recognizeable pattern again. But Mike’s not in it. I keep wanting to change the story line.
I miss his kind smile, his blue eyes, his broad chest, his presence, his laughter, his stories, having a partner to share the work, the dreams, the family with. I miss knowing I’ll have a break from the kids (funny; we always talked about how hard it was raising kids by ourselves few relatives in town–little did I know how great we did have it.)
It’s weird not having any big life plan anymore except just going day by day. Maybe that’s how I should have looked at things all along.
I’m beginning to feel slightly less freakish going to events alone with the kids. I managed to get through Marley’s entire soccer season without discussing Mike’s death with any of the parents there ( I didn’t know any of them before this spring). I don’t not want to talk about him with people I know, it just seems weird bringing it up to people I hardly know.
For all they know, I might be married to a workoholic, more likely they just assume I’m divorced. Whatever.
I can actually talk about “my late husband” to clerks in stores when necessary without batting an eyelash (for example, to explain why I can’t access his cell phone password or why I own two laptops, one of which I have no idea of the password, etc)
Oftentimes, I forget for hours that I am a widow. But there’s always something that jolts me into reality, from attending a meeting where they introduce a “great couple” who have done lots of volunteer work and have been together for 20 years (knowing I’ll never have that experience with Mike) to chatting with people I know who say that they “divide and conquer,” meaning each parent takes one or more of their children to an event (knowing I will NEVER have that option and that I USED to be able to use that same strategy and have even used that phrase before), to listening to people complain about their spouses, etc etc.
One unavoidable consequence of engaging in life is having to face the barrage of little reminders that my children (especially) and I have lost big time. So has Mike. He is missing out on so much. Yet, in a way, I believe that he still knows what is going on with us.
“I miss him,” Avery just said as he gazed at a photo of Mike playing his bass guitar. I guess the feeling is going around today.
Why do my babies have to suffer through this? It really kills me.