Tuesday, February 7, 2012
I didn't cry at his funeral. I didn't cry for a very very long time. The learning curve for my new life required not falling apart. I trusted my grieving process. God was in charge. The SSRI's I took clipped the highs and the lows I probably would have felt, but I needed them to stay on an even keel.
I kept the house (our house), and now, after nearly seven years, I can handle its maintenance for the most part. I'm blessed to have a house, and I don't complain. I've learned so much! Now I can diagnose and repair a sump pump if I need to - had to once during a flood in my basement. I can haul buckets of water from the flooded basement for 32 hours straight - had to during an extended power outage. I can install electrical switches, wireless networking, and surround sound systems. I can start and use my new gas lawnmower, leaf blower and snow blower (I still need help starting my generator). I can redecorate rooms with simple carpentry (moulding, mostly), wallpaper, and paint. I can use a power paint spray machine and fix it when it clogs. I can install and maintain an electric fence around my property (for four footed garden interlopers). I can haul 50 lb bags of rocks, and cut down small trees. Right now my roof is leaking. The whole darn roof needs to be replaced. That I can't do. My carpenter is pulling shingles and plywood off over my head and the Insurance Adjuster is coming tomorrow.
I was managing pretty well five years into widowhood. I stopped the SSRI medication. I was OK. Odd. No tears.
I fell in love. My heart came back to big beautiful life. We parted after two months.
It was my time to cry.