I’m 5 years and 9 months into life without Chuck.
I don’t think I’m supposed to call it that.
Life without Chuck, I mean.
I think I’m supposed to structure it, this life after him, in a more positive manner, according to society at large.
The one thing I’ve done really well since Chuck died is be real about this widowed life shit.
And it ain’t sunshine and roses, no matter how I try to dress it up.
Which I don’t try to do, honestly, because I don’t have it in me to be fake about it, or plant that pretend smile on my face.
I refuse to show it as anything other than what it is.
A shit show.
I engage in life and with hundreds of people and I laugh at funny shit and I connect with family and old friends and new friends and push my boundaries and comfort zones, daily.
And it’s still the most emotionally lonely life I could have ever imagined.
Which doesn’t keep me from doing all the shit I mentioned a sentence ago.
At the end of the day, when I close my door, whether it’s the door to my rig or the door to a room I’m staying in temporarily, that soul deep ache of missing him that is always present but from which I can distract myself during the day as I go about the business of living, still surges forth.
No, dating isn’t the answer, as I tell people who helpfully suggest that I start dating.
I’m not lonely for a generic man.
I’m lonely for my beloved husband.
It ain’t rocket science, figuring that out. I don’t think.
Life just isn’t as good, now, as it was with Chuck.
That’s just the god honest truth.
But here’s the other side of that truth, which is what makes me, as I told my daughter, possibly the strongest woman ever to walk through her life.
Even with this emotional wasteland of life without Chuck…
I’m going out and doing shit that is way beyond what many would consider ordinary. Full timing in a colorful car and trailer, taking seasonal jobs at opera camps and Renaissance Faires, talking to strangers daily…the list is endless.
I’m living life, whether I want to or not, because it isn’t in me to not live. Even as I wonder, often, why the hell I didn’t die of broken heart syndrome. But I’m doing it, and that is what makes me the damn strong woman that I am. Lonely for my husband, Chuck, but fucking killing this life I’ve created.
If I have to live life without him, which I have to do, clearly, then you can by god be damn sure I’m doing it MY way, living as much outside what is considered traditional/normal, as I possibly can on any given day.
With the full recognition, and realization, that anyone who has a problem with my hows and whys, generally speaking, are just not strong enough to even be in my sphere.
My life without my beloved husband. My terms.
All in glorious shades of pink.
All of which is what makes me a Fucking Warrior Goddess~