it has been a long, long, very long week. there will be another one next week. and, God willing and the creek don't rise, another one after that. and not because i am alone.
i know how to live alone. i have proven over the last 14 months that i can endure enormous amounts of time utterly alone. i big part of the overall grief network has little to do with my situation. i had my children in my 20s. they are grown therefore i cannot include myself in the conversations of widows(ers) with children at home. i do not work outside my apartment so there are no work stories. i am not elderly nor am i youthful. we had not been married for 20 or 30 or 40 years so i am excluded from the "years and years together" crowd. we came to each other late. we missed so much together and were busy making good use of the time we had. we were in love and we love each other. both of those definitions. but now, now i am a middle-aged woman who lost the only man she will be capable of loving.
so i know how to live alone. i am hurting because i have to live without him. the accumulation of all these days, weeks, months without him to talk to is getting to me.
i tripped outside yesterday. some hole in the ground that the recently cut grass covered. it jars you, that kind of fall? it jars your ribs and your shoulders. i protected my knees though. i already have bone chips floating around there. i do not want anymore. my ankle is swollen today though. i have to walk the dogs in my duck house slippers. i duct taped a sock to it for support. my hand has a nice bruise but i can grip. i can sew.
he would have fussed over me. not gushed. Marines do not gush. but he would have done a manly fussing over me. "do you want more tea?" "here's the remote." "what color thread? where do you keep the thread anyway?" "why are you smiling at me and why do you want the camera?" i would be ensconced in bed right now, in the safety and comfort of his arms instead of waiting for Captain Generic to kick in.
i did not even bother to tell my daughter. no good would come from it. she would worry that i am fumbling around over here, a graceless clod. i cannot let her worry about me. i am sure life has some perfectly heinous thing waiting for me and i will really need her. i will not cry wolf until there really is a wolf at the door. sorry. pity party over.
"if i am alone now, it's by design. i only own myself, but all of me is mine."
i have thought about this. i have thought it through. another man? my stomach churns. having some man hold my hand again? my heart flutters in panic. how many men out there have hands as rough and scarred as his? how many have that laugh that made my heart dance? how many have that smile that made me so weak? how many have stories like his? how many dragons are there out there?
i was married to a man with soft hands. a pretty boy with a dark side. i was not looking for anyone when i met my Dragon. a rugged man who knew the ins and outs of darkness and yet, his soul is so bright and warm. no fire burned as hot as his vitality and sense of fun and adventure. he has mad skills. magic. he is magic.
i miss him. i long for his company. that face that looks at me, incredulous that i want, need to have, absolutely must take another picture of him.
my daughter tries so very hard to make sure. i cannot stress her with this. i cannot call on her for the company i would like to have. the companionship i want to have ........
.........is him. i only want to talk about him. i guess it is because i live alone.
"all to myself i find the way
back to each golden yesterday,
faring in fancy until i stand
clasping your ready, loving hand;
the picture seems half true, half dream,
and i keep its color and its gleam
all to myself.
fragments of some old-time refrain,
something that comes at fancy's choice,
and i hear the cadence of your voice:
sometimes 'tis dim, sometimes 'tis clear,
but i keep the music that i hear
all of the days of long ago --
wonderful days when you and i
owned all the sunshine in the sky:
the days come back as the old days will,
and i keep their tingle and their thrill
all to myself.
count all the memories softly, too?
summer and autumn, winter, spring,
the hopes we cherish and everything?
they course my veins as a draft divine,
and i keep them wholly, solely mine --
think of the things we used to do,
think of the things we used to say,
think of each happy, bygone day;
sometimes i sigh and sometimes i smile,
but i keep each olden, golden while