I have struggled all week long with what to write here. Sigh.
I never seriously thought about being a widow, let alone being a widow of 3 years now.
This has been a week of strong flashbacks. Forcing myself to just breathe for this moment. Holding the tears back until I could find an alone time and space. Arguing with my mind and my heart about all things past, present and future. Wondering if there is a future for me, or am I fated/destined to simply wander this earth until my time is no more.
This has been a week of extreme emotions. A sense of knowing that "I got this" ... to "Oh my God! I can't breathe!" From "One foot in front of the other, one moment at a time, Life goes on" ... to "I can't do this anymore" :(
It has been a week of introspection as well. *Did I do everything I could to save Rick? *It didn't work. *If I could not save him, then what good am I to anyone? *If I couldn't save him will any one ever trust me? *3 years a widow and I don't feel like I am any better than I was that morning - not emotionally, not mentally, not financially, not physically. Just no better at all. *So what in the hell have I done with these 3 years? *Will the next 3 find me just like this, too? *And the questions were relentless to my mind and heart this week - which is why I find myself this Sunday morning feeling drained, exhausted, worn "slap-out". Sigh.
A week of moments, with a darkness overshadowing every move I have made, every thought I have had, every word I have spoken or written.
I have posted highs and lows on Facebook. Received encouragement with support, and also received comments (deleted as soon as I saw them, with a force of this is MY journey) and messages that were not in the least way supportive or encouraging, just ripping into me on one level or more.
Debating on whether to continue with Facebook, or simply move all my thoughts and this journey here. Pros and cons being weighed out, argued about.
Telling myself to not care what others say ... but knowing I do, more than I should. I allow the tenderness of my heart to get in the way. :( The bare bones of it? Words hurt like hell! Especially from those I love the most, and care the deepest about. Sigh.
This life without Rick is hard. I miss the times of talking thru things - good and bad. I miss the shoulder to lean on, the arms that encircled me. I miss belonging to someone, knowing that I was a part of something greater than me.
Not taking one tear from others that have lost their husband, their wife. Not belittling anyone's grief - whether this kind of grief, or from losing a parent, or a child. But MY grief?
MY grief is deeper than I want to admit.
For when I lost Rick - my husband, my best friend, my lover, the one who always had my back no matter what, my listener, and the hundred other "my" that he was ...
I also lost having a place to call home. For 3 years I have lived from a suitcase. Not having "MY" anything more than the clothes I wear, or perhaps the deodorant I use daily. That weighs on me this morning.
- - I miss having my own towel to dry off with after taking a shower. But then, I miss having a shower that was mine, too. I appreciate the borrowed shower ... the borrowed towels. Not taking one heartbeat of appreciation away, but I miss mine.
- - I miss having my coffee cup to drink my morning liquid sanity. What I would give to have Rick's coffee cup - not to drink out of, but to sit on my desk, to reach out and touch where his lips were so often.
- - I miss having my fork to eat with, it was a good fork, felt good in my hand. Silly I know ... but dammit!
- - and the list can go on.
- - My trinkets ... my books ... my desk that he bought me ... my pillow that I had laid my head on for so many pillow talks with him ... my blankie to cover up with even when I wasn't cold, just for comfort ... my hangers to put my tops and dresses on ... my drawer to put my panties and bras ... my iron skillet that momma bought me for a wedding present, just to see it, to touch it, to remember the thousands of meals cooked in it for Rick, for my kids and grandkids, for those around me ... just my things, my stuff.
99% of my life before April 23, 2015 is nothing more than a memory now ... something to be missed.
Life goes on. That is what I tell everyone ... and what I tell myself. Life goes on.
Even when I don't want it to, even when I don't care whether it does or not.
Life goes on.
So will I. I will breathe in and I will breathe out. Somehow.
So why "Scattered Feathers" ? ? ?
You can read it here