Lyrics from "Go Your Own Way" by Fleetwood Mac
It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, and yet again,
not because the pain is lessening. These past few weeks have been absolutely
horrible and I am glad that the new week is here. With Spring always came the
celebration of our births, then Mother’s Day. It was a 2-week festival of sorts
for us, as we would embellish each other with hugs, sweet nothings, and small
trinkets of devotion. There were always a few dinners thrown in, just for fun.
Of course this year, there was none of that, as not only are you gone, so are
all the Mothers that ‘borned’ us and loved us (your words, not mine). There was
quite a bit of crying, outbursts and isolation, as I knew that I would struggle
these past few weeks. I chose to stay home, with our son, and we struggled with
our emotions (and each other). I must say that I feel stronger, coming out on
the other side of these events, but I would wish this pain on no one.
I desperately want to reach out, and it is more of a struggle than I had thought. Does that mean I am healing? I can only hope. To think that it has been eight months since you left me here, alone and scared of my independent future. Quite a strange feeling, as I always believed that I was quite independent (but you knew better). There is a ‘new norm’ in the air; from my dreams about you to my everyday existence. Everything is changing. So here I sit, attempting to collect my thoughts and reflect on these past weeks. This is my roller coaster of emotions and hopefully will result in personal growth.
I now accept that I probably won’t die from the pain of missing you, as I’m becoming familiar with it now. I still stroke your boots and touch your clothes in the closet. Your sink is still a shrine that I dust every weekend, and I occasionally look through your trinket drawer, full of your items I couldn’t toss or give away. I now slip over to your side of the bed, hoping no one will see (like who would see – the cats?). I also notice that the smell of our home is changing too. There is a sweet smell now, whereas before it was more of a musk smell (which I adored, except for the smokiness).
I now accept that I’m no longer a happy person – if I’m not sad, I am usually angry. The only escape that I get from missing you is the 9-10 hours that I spend at work, putting on the widow’s mask. Everyone else has moved on, as they should, with their fulfilled lives and going home to partners. I am angry that there will be no more anniversaries, no more birthdays, no one at home waiting for me, and no more celebration of ‘us’. I am angry that I now must create a new future – one that is now full of uncertainty and fear. I am angry that you left me. You left me with all that is cold and black and I wonder if I will ever bask in the sun again.
I am hopeful that I will feel the sun again, but can honestly say that recently, I see no light and feel no warmth. I live in one of the hottest places in the entire United States, and I am cold. I am hopeful that this is yet another phase – one that I must endure after coming through the other side of a very painful couple of weeks.
I am. I am angry and I am hurt. I am lost, searching for all that is warm and bright. Through all the darkness, I can still scream that “I love you, Babe!", with all that I am and all that I hope to become. I want to make you proud as I continue to pull myself up off the ground and walk this journey. I know it will get better, but when? When?!?!?
