STEVIE MACFARLANE
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Widowhood Day 261, Unanswered Prayers

5/25/2017

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Every now and then I find myself breathing a little prayer, “Please let me wake up, please let me wake up.”
After 261 days I know, of course, this is not a dream.  I am not going to wake up.  This is it.  This is my new life.  Clearly, it sucks.

Last weekend I went to our youngest grandson’s first birthday, alone.  Obviously there were other people there, other grandchildren, most of our kids, relatives, friends, all the usual attendees required to celebrate this milestone.  It was a nice party at the park and he certainly enjoyed all the attention as well as his own small chocolate cake and his favorite gift, a bright red wagon.  I was alone.

Yesterday we had cake for our granddaughter’s fifteenth birthday.  Her party will be on Saturday.  Today is another granddaughters fifteenth birthday.  The girls were born 14 hours apart.  What a time that was, rushing from hospital to hospital.  The first one was almost immediately transported out of town to a Neo-Natal unit where she spent eleven days.  The second one born was healthy.  It was rough, wondering what was in store for these tiny girls. I agonized over possibly losing the frailest new member of our family, but I was not alone.

That word seems to be the key, ALONE, A simple five letter word that can encompass an entire life.   Alone:
Unaccompanied
On You Own
Unaided
By Yourself
Without Help
Single-handedly
Only
And No One Else

For a woman who has been with her man since she was sixteen, this seems inconceivable, untenable.   Yet here I am, marking the days off as though they mean something, as though at some point I will be able to say, “There, that’s done.  I’ll be all right now.”   You cannot see the eye roll or hear the snort, but believe me, they are there. 

Both of the granddaughters who have lived with us for most of their lives have told me they’d like to move out.  One wants to go and live with her biological father, whom she has had almost no relationship with for most of her life.  The other would like to go and live with her mother who has her own mental and physical problems.
“Grandma is not the same since Grampa died.”
No kidding.

If and when the time comes, I will let them go and wish them well.  I am not the same.  I will never be the same.  Why would they want to be here?  This house was once filled with laughter and love. Now it is an empty, lonely place with only the echoes and memories of happier times.  I have thought about leaving as well.  I could sell this place and find an apartment with little trouble.

What stops me is Bill.  We put our blood, sweat and tears into this place and I would feel like a bit of a traitor if I gave it up. I’ve already made so many mistakes since his death; I’d hate to make another one, especially one that cannot be fixed.   Besides they tell you not to make any major decisions the first year. Wish I’d heeded that advice.

So I will stay and watch the seasons of my life come and go through my office window as I write and create happy endings for fictional characters.  I will keep to myself and try not to let my bitterness touch the lives of those around me. I will try to keep the faith that one day we will be together again.
Stevie


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Widowhood Day 242, Things I've Learned Walking On The Dark Side

5/5/2017

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Time cannot always be measured in days, hours, minutes, seconds.  Sometimes it is measured in tears, heartbeats, and long agonizing nights filled with endless sorrow.
Time is deceptive.  Eight months can seem like ten years, forty-five years can seem as though it passed in the blink of an eye.  Do not trust time.

Do not assume that someday you will feel 'normal' again.  There is no normal. Normal is dead. There is only this one day and how you feel is how you feel.  Tomorrow may be different, but don't count on it, don't look for it.  It will elude you.

I have learned that I am not beautiful.  I don't think I ever was, even though there was a time I had to beat men off with a stick.  It was not physical beauty that drew people to me.  It was something far different.  It was happiness.  When you are loved, satisfied, happy, you project something you are not even aware of.
People see this and are drawn to you.  They want it, or some of it for themselves.  A foolish man or woman may think if they can have that person, they themselves will be happy.  This almost never happens. Instead the one who was pursued for her glow of happiness will lose it once she is away from the man who brought that out in her.  The man who has stolen her away will be disappointed and more unhappy than ever.  No one wins. 

I am not a foolish woman.  I knew full well that the source of my joy, my inner light was Bill.  I was beautiful only because he thought it was so and told me  every day.  I laughed and danced my way through life because his heart, his love played the music I danced to.  Without him I have no charm, no sparkle.  In a completely insane and nonsensical way I have tried to recapture a tiny bit of sparkle on my fingertips.  Yes, I know it's superficial, but it makes me feel better and at this point in my life that's the best I can hope for.

Strangers no longer talk to me or smile at me.  I don't smile at strangers.  I keep my head down and go where I'm going with little fanfare.  I keep to myself.

The people who love you will stick by you, even when you are a complete ass and so full of bitterness you can barely stand to be around yourself.  Don't worry about the others, the missing, I call them.  They will  be back when they want something or have something to gain. That is when you will have to decide if they are part of your life or not.  I know who loves me.  They let me know and sometimes that is with their silence, their quiet support as they give me space to grieve.  Even when we don't speak, I know.

I've learned it's okay to do stupid shit. I don't have to be perfect.  I can go where I want, when I want.  The one person on earth I answered to is gone.  I can say no. I can walk away from a stressful situation without feeling bad.  My 'give a shit' is broken.

I can laugh.  It's not a sin or a sign that I'm somehow over Bill. Yesterday my sister made me laugh, even though I'm sicker than a dog right now.  I thought about all the times we laughed until we cried, all the times we almost got fired for not being able to control ourselves. We had good times, she and I. I will never look at superglue again without thinking of her.

It's okay to cry.  I don't try to hide it.  If it makes someone else uncomfortable, they are free to get away from me.  Grief is a very personal thing.  I never know when something will trigger a memory or something painful.  Tough.  It's just the way it is and it's not going away anytime soon. Deal with it or leave me alone.

I love my children and grandchildren, but I am not a good mother, at least not right now.  I cannot 'mother' anyone.  I can cry with them, but I know I am no comfort.  I cannot fix this.  The fix-it man is gone. I don't have the answers, not for them, not for myself. 

For a while I stopped posting on here.  I got the feeling I was making others sad by sharing my grief.  Because of that I am not going to share this on Facebook.  I'll tweet it for those who follow me, but that's all.

Stevie

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    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.

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  • Stevie MacFarlane
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  • Stevie Spouts Off
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  • June 2015, A to Z Blog Challenge