728 Days of Being a Widow

Or is it 727? This is a leap year so I guess there’s an extra day in there… that seems weird. Anyway, Monday, March 11th, will be two years.

People say the second year is worse than the first year, but I don’t know about that. I mean, I get what they’re saying in that “the first year you’re numb, and the second year you’re starting to deal with it” but I kind of tried to start dealing with it right away, even though I was numb, because I know the cost of not dealing with things. I’d rather do the hard work right away, than have the double one-two punch of feeling like shit for ignoring it for a long time and then still/also feeling like shit when you’re coming to terms with it.

Sometimes I look around and I’m surprised I’m a widow. I’m not wearing a lot of black (OK, I lie, but my black is Goth/GenX black, not mourning black… although I could def rock a Lydia Deetz black dress and lace fascinator). I’m not laying about and crying all the time (although I have discovered that a good mid-day nap can be quite restorative). I’m not thinking about death all the time (any more than any other person with anxiety thinks about death when a friend is five minutes late to meet you and you know traffic is bad). I’m not staring off into the distance in silence all the time, not thinking about anything (I do stare off into the distance but I’m usually thinking about the six hundred things I have on my to-do list and trying to figure out the order in which I could/should do them all.)

I still don’t miss him all the time, not like I missed my grandmother or my father, and that does kind of weird me out a little. I mean, I don’t NOT miss him? But there isn’t that gaping hole like there was with my dad, or with Heath. There have been times I’ve wanted to tell him about something, or wished he could see something, or thought how great it would be if he could partake in something, or have been thankful he’s not here when something that I know would distress him happens. When I snuggle with the dogs on the couch I’m almost even glad he’s NOT in the house because he was an absolutely no dogs on the couch, full stop kind of person.

So yeah, part of me is “wow, how unfeeling can I be? I must be an awful person” but part of me is also “it’s not like, the last few years, that he really wanted me to rely on him for anything so not relying on him now is already natural” and part of me is also “he’s always going to be a part of everything I do, the same way my grandmother is, my father is, Bill is, Heath is, Rusty is, Mike is, so as long as he’s still in my head, he’s not GONE gone.”

Have you heard of a book called “The Brief History of the Dead” by Kevin Brockmeier? There is a place between full life and total death that people who have died, still carry on in this “afterlife city”, as long as there’s someone on Earth who remembers them. I like that idea. I like to imagine Tim in a place like that, maybe hanging out with Bill and my dad, listening to their stories. There’s more to the book than that, but I don’t want to spoil it if you haven’t read it.

I know a lot of widows. Some are in a good place now, in spite of loss, and they love the life they have even if it’s not the life they thought they were signing up for. Some are still in hard places, and my heart hurts for them. Some of them are actively grieving in a hard, palpable way, and some are grieving in a quiet, peaceful way. For some, it’s a slog through quicksand, and for some, it’s like walking a forest path that’s mostly easy but every now and then there’s a branch that reaches out and grabs you and makes you trip.

Where am I at? I’m … I’m in a pretty good place. There are questions I’ll always have – was he scared, did he know what was happening – but I’m learning how to come to terms with not knowing those answers. It’s a slow process, but I’m working on it. I’m able to concentrate more than I have been, most days. Not saying I don’t get flustered and out of sorts – definitely had an out of sorts day earlier this week! But the days are better than they are not better. I’m spending time with old friends, and even making new friends who don’t know me as part of a couple. I’m able to help the people I care about and I’m able to sit in the back yard with my dogs and think about all the things I could be doing if I didn’t need to keep an eye on the Jumping Dingus Sisters. I have regrets and questions, but I think everyone does, about one thing or other in the course of their life. I’m focusing on moving forwards… not in a way that makes me forget or deny the past, but in a way that acknowledges and celebrates the good parts of it, so that I can carry those good things forward with me.

I’m not perfect. Some days I’m cranky and some days I’m overtired and some days I just really don’t want to be around anyone. But to be fair, I had those days before Tim died. It’s not because of his death that I’m sometimes an overworked, easily irritated bitch. But in part because of his death (and the deaths of so many before him) I’m more cognizant of telling the people I love that I love them, and making time for them, and holding space for them and their troubles and joys.

Overall, like I said, I’m in a pretty good place. I’m mostly content. I’m mostly happy. I have good friends and I am loved and I have adorable but irritating pets and I have a job doing what I want when I want and I have food and a roof over my head and a car that runs and money for gas and electricity. And I have the energy and willingness to be kind, to be patient, and to be generous with my heart and my time.

It’s a good life.