Going on four years and still no life I want in sight. How lucky I’ve been, I had no idea. Each day presents so many problems; it’s easy to get caught up in what’s wrong with everything.
At the end of my road, I live in a beautiful green valley with a lake where I’m never really cold. I’m blessed. My husband’s ashes sprinkled on the lawn surround me; that’s the best we can do these days. The warm memory of our happy days here helps me deal with his loss.
All through my life, I’ve been on one quest or another. Striving for a goal always added zest, but I’ve run out of gas and need to switch to solar like the dinosaur generation consuming fossil fuels. So this is what it feels like to be old.
I may as well own it like so many changes I didn’t want. To look at young couples with fresh skin so in love and feel in my soul the memory, and then, to walk alone without a hand to hold when I’ve always held his hand forces me to be strong if I want to move along.
I could stay home and garden; I’ve done it before, but I’ve always seen myself traveling as a senior, so I believe I need to go with that. I could devote the years I have left to travel and not see the world. It’s all lonely without him.
As I recover from my grief I find my two greatest motivators to be boredom and since Kirt died I dropped my causes, except to bitch on Facebook, which is nothing.
Over the last few years, I’ve drifted from pain to a neutral, which I preferred to that hard ass hurt; that’s a murky abyss I need to be paddling away from post haste, like right now because before I wasn’t well enough to do anymore.
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