the art of grief: stranger in a strange land // Home

i am not home.

i have not been home much my whole life. home is that place where you feel safe. it is where all your stuff is. it is where you can be who you are and not worry about someone turning on you.

home was with him.

he did not hold all my stuff in his arms. in fact, during our marriage all my stuff was in storage. it still is. but in his eyes was all the love and acceptance i had never gotten during my entire life. in his arms was safety. when i was with him, i was home.

i miss him. i miss him every moment of every day. it has not been two years yet. it has been 23 months. i cannot believe that. 23 months without his voice in my ear. 23 months without his hand in mine. 23 months without spooning while i fall asleep.

i am homesick. i got out of work this evening and i waited for my ride. i looked around and nothing was familiar. i am a stranger in a strange land. there are no gulls whirling overhead. there is no rush of waves on the shore. there is no salty smell in the air.

there are no more walks to gaze out across our cove at our island. he is not ahead of me or behind me. he is nowhere waiting for me that i can see or get to or call out to him across the yards of ground.

"honey. i'm home."

honey is not there and i am not home. i will never be home again and that hit me like a 2 x 4 to the chest today. tears stung my eyes. nothing is familiar. my phone number, the apartment, the sky, the mall where i work now. nothing is familiar.

the football team is different. the accents are different. the air is different. i am different because i am alone. Dragonless. husbandless. i am a widow.

i wish i could wear a huge embroidered "W" on my shirt. "i am a widow! do not say anything to hurt my feelings! i am a widow! i hurt all the freakin' time! i am a widow! i go to bed alone and cry my eyes out -- every -- single -- night.

i am a widow and i love him so much i do not think i can make it without him.

i am His widow. ask me about him. please."

my Miss Carmen Sophia, the Wild Gypsy Girl with the Sensitive Soul has been worried about my lingering cough. she sleeps so close to my chest. her eyes are always on me.

Mr. Scootie Wootums, Lord of the Dance with the Stardust Eyes follows me everywhere i go. i am never out of his sight. and when i return from work, it is his face that stays in the window watching me walk to the stairs before he dares to duck away and race for the door.

i am not alone in the apartment. i have my two furry companions, but it is still not home. he is not there. it is not a place he has ever been and i have to admit i get very wistful reading about others who speak of their forever homes, of "not moving his things," or of thinking maybe they are ready to pick up about the place and make some changes.

i have had too many changes in my life since my Dragon died. i wish i was where we were before he died. i wish circumstances were that i was still in Rockport, still haunting the beaches, still searching for him in the moon as it rises over the North Atlantic. still in front of the fire he built that i would never have let go out even over the summers. his fire. his warmth. same place. our stuff. his chair. our home. home. home. i want to go home.

but there is no home for me anymore anywhere. because he is home. his arms are home. and i am lost in a strange world where i cannot find a friend to come sit with me and talk to me like that book speaks about. i got a copy, too. Seven Choices. it talks about having someone to talk to. i waited 21 months to find someone who will talk to me and as fate would have it, our schedules do not allow for much talk anymore. it has been a month and it will be another 2 weeks before i can talk to her again.

and i have unexpressed worries, sorrows, hurts that have happened to me that i would like to speak to someone about, if time would ever allow it. if someone would ever allow it.