Life After Loss

Thirty-eight months after my love passed, like a sleepwalker I open my eyes to a world without you. Each day collecting experiences, a memory without you is what I have. Nightmare of the first year eased into the sadness of the second year. Even in the third year depression owned more days than not, but I soldiered on.

Date people say; meet a new man. It will heal your heart, but I fear it only would cover the hole with Play Dough.

Besides, where in the hell does a fat old lady go to meet a man worthy of a good conversation let alone love or companionship? By this age we all come with luggage a new person could get lost in. Who needs it?

Frequently I feel that I’ve joined some old ladies club where my opinion or worth receives little value. Middle age men cut in front of old ladies in line and have the nerve to look at us like where do you have to go. The worse part is clerks will take care of them first because they look important to the clerk. Balls to that I tell you.

When your life is a struggle between I’m chicken shit and what’s a painless way to kill yourself, that’s when the vultures hit. In my case a mechanic referred to me by a friend stole all the air bags out of my SUV. A handyman hired to replace the washers in all the faucets charged me for replacement parts he returned after he turned the old washers over gaining about six weeks before I had the same problem.

These things aren’t end of the earth bad, but I was already at the end of the earth. I’ve heard similar stories of people preyed upon in their darkest hours, so at least I’m not taking it personally.

They say that the colors of our auras reflect the energies we possess. Hurt and loss are a couple of ways even a normally happy, person loses positive energy. I knew a kind hearted, good woman, who after the loss of both of her parents got lost in the valley of the shadow of death. Her energy became so dark that the dogs in the neighborhood raised their hackles and barked at her.

Until I met her I’d always thought of negative and positive in simple terms of good and bad.

Since I’ve been in this dark place dogs react to me differently. That saddens me so; I must do something about it.

My exercise program is an apt metaphor for my life: hurts like hell, demands consistency, but little by little, poco a poco, improvement. I must be patient with myself.