the left side of the bed where my husband used to sleep remains neatly made, hardly quilted ripples disturbing the surface. I sleep on the right side every night, where I slept for twenty-plus years we were together. Over time I developed the habit of reading in bed. left side remained neatly made, but the top quilted cover the mound of reading material is gradually increased. I read about feng shui in the bedroom and I asked was to prevent another partner from entering my life by allowing the pile to grow? Is part of me that would rather be entertained by books from other partners?
I sorted through and cleaned my husband's clothes a few months after his death, the unexplained, but a strong urge to hit me. Our bedroom is on the second floor, and with his illness, he was not in that room for at least six months before his death. I went through the bedroom like a whirlwind, clearing out every corner, drawer and shoe boxes, getting rid of anything that resembles a disorder or not used in years. I deleted all, but the barest essentials for living.
At night I would lie in bed and stare at the dark feeling of emptiness in the room, as it corresponds to a gap in my heart.
When I took off my wedding ring for the first time I put it on my opposite hand. It felt strange to be at your finger where you do not belong. I got used to it after a few weeks, but I was not sure what the protocol is for widows and rings. After a few months ago, I took the ring off and put it on my dresser, but then months later, I continued wearing it again on the right hand.
Switching wedding band felt uncomfortable about. After a few months ago, I removed it for the final time, wondering if my kids would notice. My youngest son of one days notice that my ring was gone and I told him I would put it as a memento of my jewelry box. Last time I took two and a half years after my husband's death.
for the first time I went to a social event without my husband felt incredibly awkward, like I was fraudster masquerading as someone single. Two of my children went with me, but I wondered how many people there, most of whom I knew, I asked about my state of mind, because I was a widow scant two months. Did I look happy, sad, ready to cry? Inside, I was insecure and plagued with a lack, as if half of me is gone, and the remaining half did not know how to behave. I certainly do not want anyone's pity, but I had this crazy notion people feel bad for me. I did not stay long, but somehow I felt it was important that I went.
My first lunch by myself I slipped into a restaurant booth, hoping no one would notice me. I sat there self-consciously, wishing I brought something to read so I could keep my head down, hiding my own way. I went there just to see if I could do it by yourself, test, if you will.
While I waited for my food I looked at the TV displays the time, other patrons, and through a window in the rain. My food arrived and later when I went from there, it's as though I'd cleared a monumental hurdle to take another step forward.
It sounds trivial, and yet these small steps are my daily leaps forward. Progress is measured in a few days for how long was because I cried. Is it foolish to drive the road and suddenly hear a song you made cry? Not because it is "your" song, but so painful lyrics poked at something hurting inside.
My first day in the twenty-plus years as a strange feeling, like I cheated on my husband. How do you pick up the pieces of lives gone awry, where it feels like you're a stranger in her own world? Where loneliness and despair eventually take over? How do you control the craving for human attention and affection? Many days I had questions and no answers.
first wedding anniversary, birthday, holiday, Valentine's Day and the first anniversary of his death, I told myself I was fine, they were the only days on the calendar. I lied to myself and a bright sunny day I walked into our woods and cried. Even with the heat of the sun on my face, I felt an emotional mess. The biggest maintenance factor in my life is my children. I knew that I needed because they are experiencing with their own "firsts" without her father in her life.
Slowly, time, treatment and support of loved ones made all the "firsts" bearable. Four years down the road, I realize I've successfully jumped many hurdles. It was not always perfect execution, but the overall strength and dignity. I came into its own once again as I greet my achievements great and small.
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