Maybe it’s just the move that has me all up in my feels. Maybe it actually is the one-year anniversary rolling around. I try not to overthink it and just move through it, but something is sticking with me. Six years into life after losing my husband, I still don’t always know which part of this is grief and which part is simply the life I have now. Every day I feel lighter just being in a fresh place, although unpacking was hard. It was emotional. I held Eric’s urn and spoke to him. Not a lot left actually represents our life together anymore. I let go of so much because I felt I had to in order to live any kind of life without him. I did that so I wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t be in a constant state of mourning. I can’t second-guess myself for that now.
Then I went to my daughter’s house and slept on the couch. Eric and I bought this couch. We sat on it for over an hour deciding if this was the one. He finally said yes. This one part, this one piece of the sectional, was “his.” He sat there for years and watched TV while I sat next to him in another recliner piece that isn’t attached anymore. But here, here he sat. He was physically present.
Then my oldest grandson brought me Eric’s lock from work I had given him many years ago. Another relic that he actually held and touched every day for years. Eric also stood in this house, and there are memories of us all here. All of it brings some type of energy, and I feel like I can feel something real and concrete.
He lived. And now he’s gone.
Where He Still Lives
I don’t have a lot of him left around me. I did that intentionally, but it’s nice to feel the closeness these small little objects bring. For a couple of days, I was comforted being in one of the places where he still lives, with our family. We talked about him. A lot. We also talked about the future without him. We all connected. All of us. It was good.
I stepped back into a world that I will always stand with one foot in and one foot somewhere else. It contains Eric, Poppie, yet it doesn’t. I remember in a pleasant, reminiscing way. A comforting, longing, sad/happy feeling, yet I know I can’t stay in that moment. It’s meant to be a moment.
Living Between the Life I Had and the Life I Have
So many things others have said are ringing in my ears right now. My aunt told me she was entrenched in her life, so it seemed natural to just stay after her husband passed a couple of weeks after Eric. I wasn’t entrenched in mine. After Eric died, there wasn’t a life that felt natural to just stay in. I left, traveled, moved, and kept trying to figure out where I belonged.
Later, after losing my next partner, I commented to one of his friends as I was passing along some of his artwork that I didn’t want to be alone. She replied, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” In the moment, that statement seemed so harsh and unsettling, but now I know exactly what she meant.
I feel pretty certain that I will never find the same kind of love Eric and I shared. Sometimes that doesn’t even come once in a person’s lifetime. I miss the version of myself I was with him. Wife, mother, confidant, partner. Fifty percent of we. There was cohesiveness, surety, reliance. I knew who I was and where I belonged. I may not find romance or love like that again, but I still can have connections. Maybe I should start valuing those more.
Then I had to leave Kentucky.
Building a Life of My Own
My most pressing thing when I walked through the apartment door was to clean, organize, again inventory what I need to make this new place work, and plan my next couple of days off. I was back here, back in the present day. Then tonight I got a couple of photos of my grandson when he got his cake, they sang Happy Birthday and he blew out his candles.
He’s 9 today. It hurts. It hurts my heart. This wouldn’t be the way things are if Eric hadn’t left. I don’t know exactly how they would be, but I know for sure it wouldn’t be this.
I know things won’t be the way they are supposed to be. That’s what makes coming back from Kentucky so hard. I go from being part of their lives for a moment to being back here, in a life they are not in, day to day. I question that every time I come back. I question what I am doing and the direction, or lack of direction, I have chosen.
Here I have something, though.
I’m not constantly reminded of what and who I’ve lost. My later loss sometimes, yes, but it’s not the same as the early 2020s. I have spent two full years here now. I feel drawn to this place, but I know it’s not forever. It’s just for now. For now, I’m trying to piece things together in this apartment and build something else, something that’s okay for now. I don’t know if that’s enough. I don’t know if that will keep me content.
Learning to Trust Myself Again
I feel a bit independent here. Like I can survive on my own, without anyone else, without depending on anyone.
That’s a good feeling.
Maybe I don’t need this place to answer the rest of my life. Maybe “for now” is all I actually know. I can miss the woman I was with Eric, miss the life and the love and the family we had, and still recognize this woman too. The one who is here, trying to piece things together and build something else.
Eric left this to me, to get through the good and bad. This feels like the worst since he left, but I know I’ll be okay.
I’ll find a way to be okay.
Thanks for reading. I love you all –xxooC
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Tell Me Something Good