I had a dream about you - but for the life of me I have no recollection of the dream except that you were in my dreams. I feel like this alternate universe I’ve been living in for the last few months, where you’re on a business trip, is starting to crumble and fall around me, and I’m on the brink of a panic attack, but I just don’t know it yet. I started telling people (like coworkers, neighbors, acquaintances, etc.) that you died who still might not know. It’s like I’m slowly starting to come to terms and grips with the harsh fact and reality that I’m a young widow. You died, you’re not on business trip, and you’re never coming home again. This is my reality now. This is my life. This is my story. This is my truth. I can no longer be afraid of it. I can no longer let it hold be captive or enslave me. I can no longer let it be the boundary of my fear. I have to accept it. I have to own it.
One of our neighbors sent an email to the neighborhood email group looking for someone to help sew aprons for an art class she teaches to mentally disabled adults, so I volunteered to sew her 20 aprons (I know, I have no clue how I get myself into these types of things!!). We met a few times since June to discuss the design, the materials she needed to purchase, etc. Everytime she comes over, it’s usually after 7pm, the house is always dark on the inside, and I’m always alone. Finally, when she came to pick up some of the finished aprons this week, I had the guts to tell her that I’m a widow and my husband passed away, and said, “I’m sure you’re probably wondering why I’m always talking about my husband and he’s never home.” She just said, she didn’t think much of it but did wonder who drove all the cars out front since they look like they’ve never been moved?! I also told a few coworkers who I wasn’t sure if they knew or not, and a few other random people. I think I’ve told more people in this last week then the number put together in the last 7 months. I finally feel like I’m strong and confident enough to my husband died without falling into pieces. I guess I just want to make sure everybody is on the same level, playing field, you know what I mean?! It’s to ensure I don’t have to hear things like, “Have a good weekend and enjoy your beautiful family!” from people who don’t know that you died and I’m a widow living alone in an empty house by myself with 2 dogs and 3 cats.
I feel like I’ve done a lot of “growth” in the last few weeks. Even though I wanted to be grief-free and put all my pain and grief inside a shoebox and hide it on the top shelf of our closet for all of August, it has resurfaced, but in a different way. Not where I’m sad because you are gone. It’s come back in a way where I know there’s only one truth that’s staring me in the face, even if I’m not ready to accept it yet. There’s only one door I can walk through. There’s no breech in the universe to get back to Earth 1. This alternate universe I’ve been living in while I’m waiting to figure out how to get back to you is the only real universe that exists. Earth 1 doesn’t exist anymore. I can’t keep looking backwards anymore. I can’t live in the dream anymore. This harsh reality has hit me like a tsunami; making me realize that I will never wake up from this nightmare. This nightmare is actually my life and my new reality, whether I like it or not. It’s forcing me to look at all the things I’ve overlooked since you passed away. My bed will always remain half empty, your dirty laundry will always lay unwashed on the floor in the corner of our room, and your closet full of clothes and shoes, your utility room full of tools and “miscellaneous stuff”, and your man room full of your “toys and hobbies” will always remain untouched now. Before, I would look pass these things and pretend that I don’t know there’s anything wrong with the picture (almost like they’re the elephants in the room that I’m ignoring), but now all I do is stare at them and want to scream in pain and frustration. “Why me?! What the F*CK did I do to deserve this S*ITTY A$$ LIFE!!”
The emptiness and loneliness has set in and is hitting me like a ton of bricks, and I’m either angry or at odds with myself. I live in house with all of your stuff as if you’re still living here, and at times that gives me comfort while other times I just want to scream and throw everything you own away. But no matter how loud I scream, I can never find the strength or courage to do anything but let them be as they are - untouched.
It’s like when we get into a really bad argument, and I tell you to get out of the house and just leave! But when you get ready to leave, I scream, “No, don’t go!!” So, this is where we are right now, I’m mad at you and I want you to just leave, but when you’re about to leave, I’m crying and screaming, “Don’t go, Babe!! Don’t leave me!! I’m sorry for yelling at you. I love you so much!! Come back to me!!”
A grieving widow who is trying to find meaning and purpose from her tragic event.