Widowhood. It ain't funny

Well, maybe it is, a little.  I'm amazed how many of us are collectors.  Compulsive buyers.  Compulsive collectors.

Meet my rocks.  The marble from Massachusetts.  The others from deep in my backyard.  I love rocks.   I adore rocks.  Rocks last forever. Rocks are my friends. 

Meet my other best friends. My journal, my favorite blogs, my books, my gardens, my cats, my piano, my bicycles, my road trips, my food, my clothes, my shoes, my jewelry.   

Well, if collecting doesn't solve the grief problem, what is it that makes us resilient enough to beat it?

Maybe the humor.  Maybe getting to the real issues and having a good cry.  Maybe having somebody believe in you.  Maybe the passage of time.  Maybe taking on new projects.   Maybe optimism and faith.  Maybe enough money.   Maybe good enough health.  Maybe a 'can-do' spirit.   Maybe the void itself once we welcome it.  Maybe having a dear new friend. 

Whatever those special ingredients, it somehow all adds up to a new identity, post widowhood, at some point in our lives.  It has to. 

Time's come to give up a few things I've hoarded.  I'm going to take a deep breath, and purge some things from my closet.  Maybe I can live with less?

Tell me about your collections.  Are they helping?

Til death do us part

"He would want you to move on."   I dislike those words.  It's like saying "He would like you to forget him."   Yeah.  Like that's going to happen. "Til death do us part".   As if death can sever the connection. 

He's part of my support system.  I can't undo the love he felt for me.  The love I'm sure he still feels for me beyond the grave. Wouldn't want to.  My self esteem rose steadily throughout our marriage, in part to his belief that I could handle things when he wasn't physically or emotionally around to help.  So when he died and I actually had to handle everything, I believed I could figure things out.  Didn't mean I wasn't furious at him for not doing his part in real life anymore.  Here I was doing two people's work just to stay afloat.  But suck it up, marine. This isn't any different from what any single person living alone experiences.  We juggled a lot of balls as a couple.  I can't juggle all those balls by myself.  I have to decide which three balls are most important to live a life I'll be happy with.  I've dropped so many and still feel like I have too many.  Clarity is what I seek.

Another part of moving on, getting rid of his things, was scary.  I thought that if I removed his stuff, I removed his love.  Didn't happen.  Purging has become my new mantra.  All the rooms in the house we shared are now mine and mine alone.  Even his former library has new sheet rock and bare shelves.  It's going to be my woman cave.

The love never leaves and never dies.