I had a dream that I found Jeff. I was so totally overjoyed and so excited that I attempted to jump into his arms. The shock and confusion, even hostility, that he looked at me with was horrifying. He didn’t recognize me. He didn’t know me anymore.
He scooped up our little ones in a tight embrace and laughed at how they’ve grown and who they are. They snuggled into his chest and glowed.

He ignored me. He didn’t know who I was. I was a stranger. I was outside his embrace. I was no longer ‘his’.

Losing Jeff has changed me. I am stronger, braver and more capable….I think. But without him to act as my mirror, I can no longer see myself through the eyes of someone so close who loves me so dearly. Part of the reason we love our spouse is who they see and believe us to be. Without that rose-tinted reflection, I often don’t know who ‘I’ am.
I see myself as horribly blemished. Terribly scarred. A monster at times. Wiser but angrier. More able but less patient because I have SO much more to do. More capable of standing up for myself but louder because of the necessity to be heard.
I know that he would laugh at these neurotic thoughts that plague me. The thoughts that I am unsuited to be a mother, a sister, a friend. I can feel without a shadow of doubt that he would roughly snuggle me close, kiss the top of my head and tell me that I was the ‘sweetest, most loving person he has known’.
But with only a memory of these statements and the knowledge of my metamorphosis into ‘widow’ and all that entails, I wonder if his kind description would still stand.
Would he know me? Would he love me? Would he still want me?