Who

Who are you?

Who, not what, like wife, dog trainer, etc.

For almost a year and a half I've been screaming that I don’t know who I am without my husband. Being alone with a stranger sucks!

Who, as in one who stops to soak in sunsets; that’s a facet falling under nature lover, a big fan of God’s handiwork.

Accepting the bad which always goes with good is the lesson. It’s the bitch slap to get my attention before the lesson can begin. Ouch!

The need to make it better part of my makeup kicks in constantly, saving had become my specialty. How many times do I have to stuff a sock in my mouth? Bromides spewed without a wanting ear falls like spittle. I need a sign on my forehead. Smile. Shut the fuck will do for me and you.

Who I am is a heterosexual woman without her man. We hugged and kissed liberally during the day. He pinched my breast and smacked my ass. Love lit his eyes when he looked at me. Sad.

Honor and value, the depth of relationship possible between two flawed human beings. He and I did so well; now, no one knows me and few care.

 Left on my own, my lesson to be learned is, duh, what?

Be strong, hang in there because this feels like an essential lesson.

Kirt, my honey, had a tattoo of a duck pointing to itself saying,

“Who, me?”

I miss my smartass little duck.