I know that life goes on. Even when I would rather it didn't.
Life without Rick. My Sweetheart. My lover. My bestest friend. My confidant. The one who listened to my stories and kept my memories. The one who just knew when I was stressed to the max ... and even more, knew what made me better in those times.
Depending on the moment - I was "cute as a button" ... "one hot momma" ... "foxy Lady" ... and a hundred more. I would roll my eyes at him - and he would innocently say, "What? You are! And I love you!"
I wonder if he has any idea how much I miss those words ... especially - "I love you!"
I tell those around me "I love you" - and sometimes I even hear those words, mostly from the kids and grandkids in my life ... occasionally I will read them in a message from a Facebook friend.
But to HEAR them from someone who cares ... even to just hear hear them from a FRIEND. Sigh.
"I love you" - - if you have the opportunity (and you do!) to say those words today, damn the complications (there will always be complications - do we allow complications of life to stop us from other things?), damn the misunderstandings (someone is always going to have their head up their own ass and assume that you mean more - or less - than what your pure heart means), damn the perceptions (you are not called to know and control how others will perceive you, nor your words), damn political correctness - say the words!
I love you.
You do not know who the one person will be that will hear your words and their lives will be changed, their hearts will begin to heal.
I am still helping at the office, the unofficial "Office Manager".
I love helping there.
Being around the old cars and trucks ... taking pictures ... working on the computer ... meeting interesting people ... hearing the stories ... working with someone that I truly admire and enjoy being around.
I love it all.
Yet, there is an emptiness to it.
I don't know where I am supposed to be.
I don't know what I am supposed to do.
These questions haunt me throughout the days ... and absolutely torment me in the darkness of night.
I struggle to live in just "this moment".
Not to worry about my tomorrows.
Not to regret my yesterdays.
Just to live this day as it is given to me.
To relish every moment, every sight and sound.
To cherish those I spend my time with, to hide away the memories deep within my heart so that no one, no thing, can take them away.
There is much love left inside my heart.
I simply do not know where to go with it.
I don't know how to love someone that doesn't want to be loved.
I am not afraid to love again, nor afraid to express that love.
I am afraid of crossing boundaries that I do not know are there.
Does that make sense?
In some ways I think it would be better if I were to just simply Drift Away ... go to some place where I truly am alone.
In that place I would not be a burden to anyone ... I would not be interfering in anyone's life ... I would just be me - - alone.
As I already am in my heart ... and in my mind.
I miss so much.
Sometimes the missing is overwhelming to me.
The tears are fought against.
The thoughts are held hard to the back.
I search frantically for something, anything, to fill in the void around the void.
I never know when a wave of missing is going to gut punch me ... taking me to the bathroom to cry a few tears then wash my face ... remove my very breath and ability to even think or see clearly ... or for all purposes knock me to my knees.
I breathe in.
I breathe out.
Search for one thing to make my heart smile yet again.
There is a part of me that believes if I only had a direction, a purpose in this life, then I would be better equipped to deal with all of this.
I wonder what direction I should be going in?
I wonder what my purpose in this life really is?
What am I supposed to be doing?
Where, dammit - WHERE, am I supposed to be?
What reason was I left here and Rick was not?
Perhaps some of these questions are greater due to the survivor guilt I struggle with?
I was diagnosed with cancer 2 weeks after Rick was hurt.
2 weeks before he had his shoulder surgery, I had major cancer surgery.
Path report was "very aggressive uterine cancer", yet contained to the uterine wall.
Prognosis was "95% vs 5%", meaning that if I survived the first 5 years with no recurrence of cancer, then I would surely die, but not from this. :) There was great joy at the time ...
And then, Rick went on dialysis. He fought hard. He became more weary than what his mind, or his body could take ... and then he died.
With as much as he had to live for ... why did he die?
With as much as I had fighting against my body from within ... why did I live?
Now, here I am - alive, and alone. Seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, feeling - all those things of life - that he no longer can. Sigh.
These thoughts and words are a bit mixed up ... I know that.
But then, so is my heart ... and even more so, so is my mind.
Just a slight glimpse into a widow's world.
My closing thoughts & words for today:
About a month before Rick died, he told me some things and made me promise him what I would - or would not do - if (or in his words "when") he died. For his peace of mind and heart, I promised, with tears flowing and my breath ragged, I promised.
For these 3 years now I have struggled, wrestled, tried, to keep those promises.
Every time I have felt like "yes, I did it", there has been little to no joy. Instead filled with the backwards twisted reasoning - "If Rick had not died, I wouldn't have to do the promises ... I wouldn't be so damn tired from trying."
Every time I have fallen short of keeping those promises, I have suffered greatly with guilt, with tears, with anger and with a whole host of nightmare emotions.
Now, there has come a release of sorts.
Not sure how long it will last, but for now - I will cherish this moment.
Bask in the release.
*Rick did not know what he was asking me to do. He did not know how hard this life without him was going to be. He had no concept of being alone on this earth. He did not know what he was asking.*
I will continue to strive towards keeping those promises.
However, at least for a little while to rest my heart and mind, I give myself "permission" (is that the right word?) to simply DO MY BEST. WHATEVER THAT IS. EACH MOMENT OF EACH DAY. MY BEST.