It is nearly four years since Mike died and yes I still cry, but now my recovery time is quick. The turn around between tears and living can be compared to the space between breaths. It is almost indistinguishable. The time between my tears falling and my life interrupting is fleeting at best. Tears fall and I don’t miss a beat anymore. I guess you could say that I have become very proficient at living with the grief.
My life, like every widowed person’s life, is a delicate balance between soul crushing missing and a both feeble and fierce attempt at living as normal of a life as possible. There, hidden among my regular routine life, is an ache that runs so deep inside me that if feels like it is not even separate from me.
My grief is part of who I am. And, really, my grief is not grief at all. It is love.
My tears are not necessarily tears of sadness, more accurately, they are love tears.