Some days I wonder what my purpose is. I wonder why I'm still here. What's the plan? What am I supposed to be doing? In truth, I have no clue. I keep putting one foot in front of the other. I'm on a journey with no destination in sight and frankly it's not a very pleasant one. Where am I going? When will I get there? There is a feeling of being lost. People offer to do things for me and I let them, but there is a price to pay for that and it's called independence.
My daughter says:
"I'll drive." Okay.
"Want me to do your laundry?" Okay.
"Want me to change your sheets, vacuum your room, make you something to eat?" Okay.
She does these things because she can't help me. I get it. She's on a journey of her own as she tries to come to grips with the loss of her dad. I can't help her either. We both loved the same man, but my pain is different from hers. I feel bad for everyone else who is grieving, for not only have they lost Bill, but we have all lost a piece of each other somehow, if that makes sense.
I am not the same mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, or friend I once was. There is a woman in my house. She wears my clothes and sleeps in my bed, but she is not me. I don't know her, not really. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I don't recognize her. She has sad eyes. Her hair seems lifeless, her skin pale and she's much older than me. If I get dressed to go out and do the girly hair and make-up thing the girls will tell me I look nice, or that I'm pretty. It's a bit funny. Do they think I am blind as well? I know exactly how I look and prefer to stay away from mirrors if I have my glasses on.
That being said, even as depression rears it's ugly head once again, all is not terrible. There are days where while I'm not particularly proud of who I've become since Bill died, I am still proud of who I once was.
My youngest daughter got engaged last weekend to a man who was once a young friend of Bill's. They have quite an age difference between them, but he's a good man with many of the same values Bill had.
Every single morning she texts me:
"Good morning, mama."
We talk back and forth for a while as I sit at the table and watch the dawn. She's up getting her daughter off to school. The other morning it went like this:
"Good morning, mama."
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm good. I want to show off my ring, lol."
"I don't blame you. Funny how things turn out."
"It is, I seriously couldn't be happier."
"I'm so happy for you both."
"Saturday night he said in bed as we were going to sleep, I hope I make you happy and I said everyday, and I hope I make you happy and he said every second."
"Aw, so sweet, like me and dad."
"I know, honestly I wouldn't have what I have if I hadn't watched you and dad loving each other."
So yeah, I'm proud of that. My kids know what love looks like. What they do with that knowledge is up to them.
Tomorrow is my birthday, the second one I've had without Bill. The day itself is not a big deal to me. My mother is gone, my father is gone and now Bill. Am I supposed to celebrate?
I can't, to me it's just another day, another year, and probably another wrinkle. Yeah, that's what I want.
Anyway, my oldest granddaughter gave me a lovely gift. Caitlin has lived with Bill and I most of her life and she's quite unique. I've never seen anything like this before, but there's no one quite like Caitie either.
It's the way the stars aligned on my 16th birthday, the night I met Bill. I find it very interesting and may start paying more attention to such things. I have a telescope but I think it might need a lens. I'm going to look into it. Out here where I live there is no light pollution, so the sky is magnificent on clear night.
Well, that's the end of my somewhat disjointed, whiny post. Life is kind of like that now. Just sort of rambling on in no particular direction. I can't imagine what I would do it I didn't write.
This page is now my blog/journal about Widowhood. I'm not qualified to give advice. I'm new at this. I don't want to be qualified. I don't want to be a widow, but no one asked me. These are my thoughts, fears and feelings. Please don't equate them as anything but that.