Life After Honey

This starting a new life stuff is so hard. People tell me how I should feel and what's going to happen, like they know. Or they tell me how blessed I am to have had such a love at all and I should be grateful. I look at these people as they go on; do you know what loss means? Of course I am grateful to have had such a love. Forty-five years is almost a lifetime. What's new is not having that man, touching him, hearing his laugh. I miss his voice, the warm loving tone; how I felt when we were together.

Yes, I’ll have it in my mind and heart, but please, it’s not the same. As they tell me how wonderful these memories are going to be, I stare blankly into their faces; do they know they’re selling me the consolation prize? Just be glad and you’re lucky are pretty sucky phrases.

Essentially, these dissertations end with I'm strong, I'll be fine, I just need to do such and such. 

Other widows don’t usually do that to each other, they know how intensely personal the loss is. One day I said, “This Sunday will be number thirteen since Kirt died.” My friend had a horrified expression, “You shouldn't count!”

“But, I have to count,” I replied. Her face softened with understanding, “Count if you want to,” was all she said. Even my mother and I, who have an uncomfortable relationship, we've bonded over the loss of our husbands, miracle of miracles.

In my acquaintance of other widows, I've noticed ways of handling life after; surround yourself with family and to stay safe in physical and emotional proximity, drugs and booze, gambling, turning mean and bitter is a choice, but I’m thinking about going back to work. I always liked working, but I liked hanging around with my husband more.  

So the big question I ask myself is what am I going to do?

And by the way, I’m glad those people who lecture care; thanks.