sleep is still such a rare commodity for me. i catch it as i can between writing the articles for the other site to earn money and the sewing i do. i have a commission for three quilts from one of the women in the widow's group. seeing her renewed pain as she looks at her husband's shirts and pants cut up reminds me how fresh mine is. her husband died over two years ago and yet the grief is still so close to the surface. but seeing her attachment to the quilt, it makes up for the both of us the trauma of what i do to get the finished quilt. her mother-in-law, her children, all will be able to wrap themselves in those quilts and have them forever.
which brings to me to this missive. what is forever? tonight at midnight my Carl will have been gone from me for three months. only three and yet already three months. it feels like forever and it feels like nothing. i feel so raw. i feel like i will never feel any better than this. i feel so lost.
and i am lost. nothing is familiar. nothing is the same. my walking partner, my companion, my friend, my lover, my husband has died and nothing will ever be good. i don't feel safe. i don't feel well. i sometimes don't feel like anyone knows i'm still alive but my children. i've faded from life. easily sacrificed because he is no longer by my side. i know i was the quiet one, or when i did speak, so easily overlooked. i quit to easily. i accept that i am not worth befriending, sitting with, not worth hanging on to. that is another reason why his death is so hard. i am so utterly alone.
my children have their lives and are so busy. i have no other family. i am in a new city that is nothing like where i was with him. concrete and asphalt instead of paths to the beach. car horns and sirens instead of ocean waves. birds call but they don't cry like our seagulls. what lonely, austere lives they lead. mostly solitary. harsh environment. seagulls seem to have become a metaphor for my life now. ugly, austere, mostly solitary, and a harsh environment. if i fall, who would know? my children, yes, but they would grieve and move on. or am i not giving myself enough value?
i always had my own identity. i was the artist. he was the Marine. i was his. he was mine. he helped me find my voice but now its fading, as i am. people pass me by without a glance. i walk everywhere and i guess that is good but i reinforces how lonely i am without him. we held hands when we walked. his holding mine so tightly. i felt such a sense of well-being beside him. i felt loved.
three months. i keep counting. it ticks in my head every sunday all day. each hour passing gets closer to midnight. every night is like that but sundays are the worst. and i am alone.
i wonder how bad it will feel on his birthday? on our anniversary? Christmas? i'm crying inside even when my eyes are dry. i can't stop crying. i also can't get a song out of my head. the Righteous Brothers, Unchained Melody. it won't leave no matter what i do. and it will probably be there tonight when i give up and lay down. to read. never to sleep. that's something else that grief took from me; my ability to drift off and and dream of him.
1 comments:
I just came across your blog though Chillin' with Lemonade. I've read all of your entries and have many comments, so I'll try to keep them brief.
It's hard to read books on grief, but don't give up on them completely. Just read them with the attitude that everyone grieves differently. Of all the texts I've read, Confessions of a Grieving Christian by Zig Ziglar is the only one I've recommended to others. He wrote it following the death of his adult daughter, but I really identified with his grief.
Though widow/ers don't have a radar that allows them to bid one another "mourning", many of us have turned to the internet to find comfort and solace. I have posted links to many other widowed bloggers on my own blog. Up to this point, I have only added bloggers who are very young and/or are are still raising their children. However, I was so touched by your blog that I have created a new category and added you as well.
I have been widowed for over two years, and the pain can still be very raw at times. At some point you will start to have a good day here or there, then maybe two in a row, and so on. And one day you'll notice that the good days are beginning to outnumber the bad ones. But there will always be bad days. And that's okay.
I will continue to read your blog and pray for you.
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