It's not getting easier
I wish I could find some solace in being one of the lucky ones to have had 35 years of the kind of love that many people never get to experience. I wish I could find some serenity in just looking outside at the majesty of nature which my husband was such a lover of when he lived. Instead I feel tired. Tired of pretending that somehow this still all matters. I have managed to “do” plenty but it comes more from a frantic need to fill the time and space around me so I don’t have a moment to think about him not being here. When I do stop activity or wake to an empty bed then my thoughts allow my emotions to fall off the ledge and I end up in the hole.
I know life has an end. Knew it then, know it now. I just wish that I wasn’t the one left behind. Yes, life has an end but now it also is empty. Devoid of feeling. Just doing, no feeling. I was so in love that now I can’t find anything that creates that sense of union. There is nothing that can bring me to that place of refuge from all the slings and arrows that the world throws in our path. I have chosen to put as much distance as possible between me and the world because I simply cannot stand any more hurt.
I used to care. A lot. Now I am an automaton going through the motions hoping against hope that my time is measured. I come to this website because I know that no matter what I write there will be an instant understanding of the “feeling” that I am trying to relate. I would never have believed that the death of my husband could do this to me but I now know how people living with mental anguish have such a hard time functioning. There is an wise Indian saying that says: “Until you have walked a mile in my moccasins, will you then know my journey.”