Archive for the ‘feelings’ Category

Today, I sat down and cried for what I have lost.

I sat and cried until snot covered my face and my body was curled into a ball on the floor while both dogs snuffled around me, trying to see what was wrong. I cried until the sobbing turned into dry heaves, and then I cried some more.

I cried because I wanted it to all be new again.

I wanted me to be new again. To be whole again.

Like I was here, like I had just arrived.

I cried because I know I can’t.

I cried because I’m selfish.

I cried because I want my husband.

I cried because I want my daddy.

I cried because I want all of the people back in my life who loved me and made me feel safe.

I cried because I felt so alone.

I want the ones that are still here to be here for me, to tell me they love me and no matter what they always will, no matter the family drama or stupid arguments over a damn fig tree or who did what to who or boathouses or any of the stupid shit that doesn’t matter.

I cried because I wanted my life back.

I cried myself to sleep and woke up on the floor with two terriers on either side, watching me with their big eyes, their tails cautiously wagging to and fro, as if testing the winds of my emotions.

I hugged them until the energy from their bodies give me a reason to get off of the floor.

Then I fixed myself a drink and went and sat out on the deck.

And as I sat there and the images of my life started to run through my head, I started to cry again.

Because I was thankful.

Thankful that I was born to an amazing family.

Thankful that I was given a life and a childhood that so many only dream of.

Thankful for the lifelong friends I have from Singapore and Mississippi and from my life now.

Thankful to have had Gregory for the time that I did, and for the love and the fun and the memories we made.

Thankful that I am healthy, have a job, a home, two cars, friends and people who love me.

Thankful that somehow I gathered the strength I never knew I had to get through this, one step at a time.

Thankful to be here.

Thankful to be me.

Even through it all, I’m still me. With the same goofy grin and dark scary hair I had in that picture up there. Older, not so sure about wiser.

Bruised, scarred and hurting.

A conundrum.

Clawing my way out of bed one day, bounding out and ready to take on the world the next.

But never giving up. Never.

I wasn’t made that way.

And for that, I am especially thankful.

I’m not sure who is trying to send me a sign via signs. But they seem to be popping up everywhere. Either that or I’m just noticing them more as I slip in and out of my haze.

I saw this today…..

I’m not sure what the preacher is going to say, but I know what I think.

When life touches death, it turns the sun and the sky a hazy shade of blackish-gray.

It turns the nights long and sleepless, every sound magnified as if ghosts are walking the halls where the ones you love used to tread.

It turns ” I don’t know”  into ” I really don’t care” with a side of “Can’t everyone just leave me alone with my misery?”

And then it starts to trick you.

It lets the sun break through, it might even let a bird sing and a smile and a laugh run fleetingly across your lips.

It lets you think that maybe you are getting better, that the hurt can’t ever hurt that bad again, at least not quite so much.

But never long enough for you to get comfortable.

“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!”

And in you go again, and again, and again.

I don’t think I know what the Sunday message will be for a lot of people, but I know what it’s been for me.

When life meets death here on this earth?

It’s hell.

I’m still trying to figure this whole “widow” thing out. It seems to be what defines me lately. Of course, I’m the one who is letting it, so that is no one’s fault but my own.

I try not to sink into the abyss of depression. I try to not let “woe is me” become my mantra. I try, mostly successfully, to put on a smile and face the world outside my home by being the Kim I once was. Most days I leave her at the door when I re-enter my sanctuary. But some days, the old me stays with me a bit longer. I laugh, I have fun with friends, I think about the future past the next twenty-four hours.  I actually go for a walk, attempt to get back into my exercise routine, try to be the person that I want to be again.

But at the end of the day, I am alone.

The standard definition of a widow is : A widow is a woman whose spouse has died. A man whose spouse has died is a widower. The state of having lost one’s spouse to death is termed widowhood or (occasionally) viduity. The adjective is widowed.

I find that I have gone through a period of sorts with the whole thing. At first, when asked if I was married I would nod my head yes. Then, as the months wore on, I would hear my voice saying, “No, I’m a widow.” Now, I have circled back to nodding and then actually saying “yes”.

Random Human : “Are you married?”

My voice : “Yes.”

The blinking red neon sign in my brain : “But he’s DEAD, DEAD, DEAD.”

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

My inner voice: “But I am married.”

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

The sign in my mind has no off switch, I have found. No dangling cord for me to pull on, no switch to flip. It blinks at the most inconvenient times. At work, in the shower, at the store, at 3am while trying to sleep but the messages of worry and woe that the sign displays are so bright and piercing that they flash behind my eyelids like a shard of glass in the sun. Today it hummed to life whilst I was speaking to the two nice census takers that innocently interrupted my breakfast. When it came to the question of how many people resided on April 1st in this big rambling house, I could see them exchange a look when my answer was simply “one”.

My marital status?

“I’m married.”

Another look.

“Well, I’m actually a widow, so I guess that’s the box you need to check.”

An uncomfortable look. The downward glances. The inevitable “We’re sorry for your loss.” Then, the tables are turned, and I’m the one comforting them.

“Oh it’s ok, thanks. I’m fine.”

Neon sign : LIAR. LIAR. LIAR.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

I hope the bulbs burn out eventually, the power that supplies it shorts out, I figure out how to sabotage it, something.

Until then, I live with it. I tolerate it.

There’s probably a pill that will make it go away, seems like there’s a pill for everything, so why not ? I tried something, briefly, but it wasn’t for me. I am one that wants to feel, wants to deal with the pain, not suppress it, where I fear it will fester and come roaring back after me with the ferocity of a lion.

So I go on about my days, my mind bathed in it’s glow, like some kind of internal tanning bed, lamenting my viduity.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.