The Things I’ve Said that Still Surprise Me
I’m sitting here watching a thunderstorm roll in. One of the subtle things I love most in this world. The smell of rain. The calm before the storm. Quick flashes of lightning and a glimpse of what’s coming. We never really know what’s coming, though. Every moment, every day. Although it may be routine, somehow, some way, something unexpected always pops up. This story is about the things I’ve said that really surprised me when I heard them come out of my mouth.
I had a conversation with another widow today. Her story was like others I had heard. Her husband died because of an illness. His death wasn’t quick. He didn’t want to leave, and his leaving was devastating. They had been married a very long time. And in this conversation, I had another revelation.
The things I’ve said since Eric left that I never thought would ever escape my lips. I’m speaking of the words I never thought I would ever say pre-trauma. I’m still surprised when something like “my husband died” rolls off my tongue. Another is “my life now after my husband passed.” Still, the one that always stuns me is “now that I am single.”
What Still Surprises Me
I never thought I would be single again. That title eluded me for a long time. I was very reluctant to take it until it was forced upon me. Taxes and the IRS are to blame, but I took it anyway. Now I bear it like a sign, or a badge. My heart will never be single. He will always dwell there, inside my soul, even though outside we are no longer a couple.
This widow I spoke to today has been a widow for 12 years, and like me, she is choosing her own path. We didn’t speak about what her life was like right after. But I felt we shared some commonalities. The pain in her eyes was still there, and when she said, “I’m 12 years; you are still new,” I knew then she had a perspective, so I rebutted, “Time really doesn’t matter,” to which she responded, “No, it doesn’t.”
What Time Changes After Loss
That right there. That was the moment that solidified everything I’ve thought up until now. Time does not heal all wounds. It just allows us to cope better. So far, it’s taught me to hide everything inside better, to function in society again even when what I’m feeling underneath hasn’t changed.
Right after Eric died, I spoke to a dear friend I used to work with. She too lost her husband suddenly to an accident two years prior. They were both young. She said to me, “Girl, it’s hard.” At the time, I didn’t know what that meant. I do now. It is hard. It will always be hard. Coping, existing, living past the death and trauma of losing a life partner is hard. It’s a different kind of loss. Hard is the beginning, middle, and will ultimately be the end.
I love you all. Thank you for reading -xxooC
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