Is loneliness the never-ending story of widowhood?
Does it end if we find another chance at Love?
Does the loneliness exist, even then,
Because the loneliness is specific to that person, your person, who died?
Is there ever a moment again
When a widow’s heart feels that lightness of being,
Or is the heaviness, the ache, the sadness of that particular loneliness
A lifetime sentence in the so called new normal?
Because, no matter what I do, where I go, how I push, how I involve myself in life, in relationships with family and friends, no matter how much I join in, engage, power on,
That loneliness doesn’t leave my heart, my soul, or my body.
Counseling and therapy for anxiety and trauma…EMDR, bi-lateral brain stimulation, talk, tapping, retreats, meditation, new environments, connections with others…I’ve done it all, and I continue doing it all…
And…that loneliness that only intensifies as the years pass by.
973 days. 21 hours. 34 seconds. Since Chuck died.
I’m very definitely not the poster widow for getting “over” the grief.
It isn’t the chest slicing grief of the first 3 years, so I guess that’s good, right?
It’s more a sort of numbness, even though I feel so much, which is contradictory, I realize.
I long for him more as the years go by.
My body craves his presence next to me.
It all feels so fucking relentless.
This feeling. And, honestly…life.
I’m doing all the shit and creating beauty around me.
And that default heaviness of my heart and soul is ever present.
Is this the rest of my life, I wonder?
And how can it not be, really?
He’ll always be dead
And missing from me and I’ll always long for him,
Because he isn’t here.
Nor will he ever be here again.
His deadness is relentless.
I want to wake up from this,
And I know I never will.
Will I ever feel the lightness of being again that I felt for 24 years?
Questions and more questions.
If all things that are impossible
Became impossibly real,
And the unimaginable
Became impossibly imaginable,
And what is impossibly, unimaginably, inconceivable,
Became entirely plausible.
In a world where my fiercest and most impassioned pleas,
Ringing forth from the depths of my shattered heart…
Could be heard pulsating through the days and nights of the almighty Universe,
And the gods of the Romans and Greeks and all gods through Time
Were to hear my cries,
Bouncing off the stars and the moon and the sun…
Especially…most especially Aphrodite and Pothos and Eros…
And Mars, that fierce god of war, who understands passion and ferocity,
If these gods, dancing among the stars,
Were to hear my fervent keening,
And, in response, radiate their powers into one lone energy that would shape all that is impossible,
Into the possible,
With a nod to the mighty Thor for use of his valiant hammer…
They would, on the winged feet of Mercury…
Convey you, my dearest Love, my beloved, my husband,
To my side once again~
Where, my Beloved, did you go,
That long-ago night when you left me?
Where did you go,
That darkest of nights forever ago,
Watching as your chest quivered in and out,
Until it quite simply…didn’t.
And my heart that was your heart that was my heart again, and yours,
Shattered and splintered,
Even as it crystalized into nothingness and everything.
Even as my traitorous mind went blank, searching for memories of you and I and us.
Frozen in time.
Me, still here.
Grasping the starkness of my new world,
Where did you go, my beloved?
As I placed my hand on your chest something I’d done so often…
And didn’t feel you place your hand over mine something you’d always done.
Two hearts. One heart. Your heart. My heart.
Your heart and your Love into my heart and Love magnified in me.
Where you went, my beloved, was into nothing and into everything that is my world without you. Spirit. Essence. Heart. Soul. Green eyes. Strong shoulders. Warm embrace.
We became me, and us and who we were, became who I now am in my world without you.
We all know the power of words, especially in widowhood.
Words stream at us in loving support, with awkwardness, clumsy grace, and, unfortunately, in judgement.
We hear these words and phrases and they make us stronger or they make us want to hide.
We begin, as time passes, to hide ourselves. To isolate ourselves.
We present artificial selves to protect ourselves from judgements and maintain our daily lives, while our hearts and souls go underground.
Early on, in what I will presume was good intent, a friend told me to just fake it til you make it.
Instinctively, I knew that wasn’t an option for me. It felt like an unhealthy response to a genuinely traumatizing event.
As these few years have passed, I’ve spoken about life without my beloved husband, and the struggles of widowhood, in as real and authentic a way as possible.
I refuse to hide myself from it. I refuse to allow the world and its’ judgements to force me into isolation. I can’t, for my own sanity’s sake.
And I’ve also had to create a life and do my daily tasks, which I can’t do if I’m sobbing my way through my days.
So I’ve put on the face, so to speak, in order to get shit done, like we all do.
But this isn’t a fake it til you make it face.
In what I consider a healthy response, I’ve morphed into two people. Which, as a Gemini, is no big deal to me, honestly.
And I’ve learned that this widow life isn’t an either/or proposition.
It’s an and situation.
I am this person AND I’m that person.
I am devastated empty lonely yearning sad missing him AND I am creating and creative engaging being and showing and receiving Love…daily.
I am a shadow of myself AND I am shining more brightly than ever.
I don’t want to be here on this earth without him AND I am more determined than ever to carry our Love story every day.
I feel empty AND feel so full each and every day.
I am this AND I am that AND I am perfectly okay with this duality.
This duality, for me, is how I widow~
Fucking life without him
Fucking memories of you dying
Fucking bed sores
Fucking hole in the base of your spine where the tumor ate through your body
Fucking having to live without you every damn day
Fucking having to wake up and do life in the midst of fucking confusion that is just always there no matter what, for fucking years
Fucking relationships that tear apart after death
Fucking dark shadow of widowhood that scares people away even when you try to hide the shadows
Fucking nights staring at a TV show that you couldn’t even describe to someone even after watching it for an hour and another hour and another and you still couldn’t say
Fucking eyes that stare into nowhere and beyond nowhere into you know not what of nowhere
Fucking screams that get shoved down into your body because…well, who knows why?
Fucking judgment from every direction; too soon, too fast, too much, not enough, too dark, too light, too this, too that, too everything
Fucking cancer that ravaged and blew apart the body of the man I loved
Fucking tears that spill out no matter where or when
And fucking tears that don’t spill and choke you instead
Fucking energy to suit up and show up every day
And fucking judgements that it’s not enough or it’s not the right kind or it doesn’t matter just don’t be a fucking widow
Fucking widowhood that you’d tear off of you if you could and fuck that you can’t
Fucking doing every fucking thing you can and he’s still dead and always will be
Fucking skin hunger and fucking every damn thing about him being dead and gone
Fucking life fucking death fucking grief fucking breathing fucking everything without him. fucking everything
I stare into the distance of everything and nothing many times during a day’s measure,
And, as I stare, I see everything and I see nothing
I feel everything so much that I feel nothing.
Pain and grief have morphed into emptiness
Which is funny and humorous except not
Because my life is incredibly full
With family, with new friends and old
Driving new roads and old roads, literally.
In all directions.
How can a life so full feel so empty?
How can it feel so heavy?
Why is it so exhausting?
How do I change it from that to something different and not as heavy or empty?
Is this just part of the package resulting from the death of a beloved?
Just as we can’t know something until we know it…
So, too, we can’t unknow something that we know into the marrow of our bones.
I guess. I suppose. I don’t know.
I would give all that I am to unknow what I most regretfully now know and will never not know…
This shattered glass strewn around my feet, under my feet,
Glass that was once my leaping joyous joyful heart,
Shattered as I shared a last breath with my beloved.
Turned into a meat slicer roosting in my chest,
Where my heart once beat in rhythm with his.
His. Now forever stilled.
Still beating. Somehow, and mysteriously.
My heart that once beat with his, now shattered glass into glass dust strewn at my feet…
Tiny luminous particles of dust motes dancing in the air
Kicked up by my feet that still walk on this earth
Unbelievably but absolutely.
Uncertain yet determined feet that crunch loudly through the shattered glass powder under my feet,
Striding into this shattered glass dust life of his absence.
Glimmering glass dust motes swirling into the air…
Shimmery dust glass reflecting light back to me around me.
Shimmer and glimmer and beauty and pain and missing and Love…
Beating heart to shattered heart to glittering dust that, tenaciously and insistently,
Rises around me,
And illuminates my way~