The last few days have been hard. I've woken up with anxiety and this sickness in my stomach that I just can't seem to shake. I feel like I need a good cry or scream, but nothing comes out. It's like I'm on empty. I ran out of tears and lost my voice, and I'm just forced to keep moving forward against my will. I don't even have the energy to kick or fight anymore; it's like I've resigned myself to my new fate. This new fate that I can't seem to make sense of or even understand or fathom. Some days I'm in disbelief that this is my life while other days I've resigned myself to this being my story, my destiny.
We've moved into our new home just a little over 8 months before you passed, and it was supposed to be our dream home where we were going to grow old and retire in. This home was going to be our "forever home" -- we were never ever going to move again. And now, I look at the empty drawers and shelves of the new closet and utility room organizers that were just installed a couple weeks before you passed, and it makes me sick to my stomach looking at them empty, waiting for you to fill and organize, but you never had the opportunity. I look around the house as it's going through phase II of the remodel and it's been very bittersweet. I'm looking at all the appliances and tiles we picked out together being delivered and installed, and I see the dream home we dreamt of come to life, but then I also realized that you will never ever get to see it completed. You will never ever get to use the microwave or wine fridge you picked out or the induction stove that you kept wondering how it worked and why you couldn't use your favorite aluminum stock pot on it. You will never get to see the flooring you picked out finished. Picking out the tiles for the dining and living rooms and hallways was the last thing we did together the Saturday before you passed. I look at those tiles now, and sometimes, I want to scream while other times, I just want to lay on them so I can feel you once again. Those tiles will always hold a special meaning for me of the last thing we ever did together. Whenever I go into the craft room, I look at the walls you painted for me and I break down - knowing it was the last major project you did for me. Everywhere I look, I'm surrounded by you in all the materials and appliances we picked together (or disagreed on and you just took over since you said you had better "fashion" sense than I did) and in all the things that we discussed doing to the house in the future - like the deck, outdoor kitchen, and fence. This house was built and dreamt up from our love to be our forever home that we would grow old and retire in, but now it's just me and sometimes I can't even fathom living here alone, but other times, I can't even imagine selling it since you are all I see when I look around the house. You are in the countertop, the flooring, and all the appliances you picked out (since you didn’t like what I picked). How can I walk away from the dream home that we’ve built together but how can I stay where all i’m reminded is of the life that will never ever be again?
There are days I go into our closet and sit on the floor and just start crying next to your things. I cry out your name and tell you to come back to me, but you never do. It's like I'm crying and screaming into an empty void and nobody responds or answers me. It's just me, rocking and soothing myself to find the strength and courage to come out of the closet and face my new reality. A reality that I didn't choose or want. A reality that I was not prepared for - a life built for two that I have to go at alone.
A grieving widow who is trying to find meaning and purpose from her tragic event.