This isn’t going to be an upbeat blog.
No apologies for that, but fair warning.
I don’t have it in me today.
Yesterday was 6 years since Chuck died.
I wonder why I can’t seem to get wherever it is I’m supposed to get. In this widowed life, I mean.
It’s felt, since I was first widowed, like I’ve had to continually strive to be somewhere in the future.
Happy. Joyful. Loving life. Involved.
Maybe fucking ecstatic, I don’t know.
And the pressure didn’t always come from others. I’ve put it on myself, too.
I’ve gone my own pace. Insisted on my own pace. Forgiven myself for not being further along. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
There are no easy answers to this life without.
Some guru somewhere would probably tell me that I have to stop thinking of it as “life without”, as a start.
How one does that, I’ve no idea.
Them’s the facts: my life is a life without, and no matter how much I might try to think of it otherwise, that’s what it is.
Chuck’s dead. I’m without him. And it’s incredibly lonely, no matter how much I fill it with other people.
I’m lonely for him.
And I’m soooo fucking tired.
On this day after the anniversary of the day Chuck died 6 years ago, I’m out there living a life and creating beauty and doing my damndest to make meaning of all that this life without is.
But seriously, it just isn’t as good as life was with him.
And I don’t know that this will ever change.
Unless there’s a magic recipe somewhere, yet unfound by others like me.
No big news here this evening, folks. No words of inspiration.
Just standing in solidarity with any of you who might be feeling the same sense of withoutness…