The refrigerator in my house always seemed to small to me. It was the to go to place for my stepson and husband, plus every dog we owned past and present. These days it’s more empty than full. It’s beginning to look like the refrigerator I owned before my marriage.
I took the trash out to the curb tonight as is the Thursday night ritual. It wasn’t my job until recently. The green recycling buckets are half full and not over flowing. The trash can too. Soon I will cut my plan to bi-weekly, or maybe I’ll just drive to the dump on weekends like so many others do. Again, that’s something I did before my marriage. It’s so strange now.
There is a tug at my heart in the grocery store. All the things he, they, used to like. Now I’m back to a basket, like the single girl I was before my marriage. There is a transition, bigger than life, when two become one. Likewise, transitioning back is an earthquake in itself. How does one go back? That’s not the natural flow. There is no backward. Or is there?
I am glad I have years to look back on before my marriage. Those years were important. Only now do I see how critical they will be in saving me from the riptide of grief. I feel comfort and discomfort at having to remind myself that I can do.
I can do anything. What I don’t know how to do, I will learn. That’s the gal I used to be. I need to find her once more.
I’m not saying that grief will spare me. Much of the last eight years I have suffered anticipatory grief, knowing that the therapies and medications and surgeries would only buy time, not a miracle. Grief and I know each other well by now. Grief knows what I long for and just when it’s most inappropriate, grief reminds me through some piercing sign, of what I miss.
I am realistic and practical. I know my weaknesses and strengths. I have readied myself as best I possibly can, and I know he did too.
All that we have now is time. Time stands in the shadow of grief now. Soon though, time will stand in my favor.
~Be well, my friends, till next time. Namasté