Widow's Voice

This Point

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I reached a point in these last few days. 

I need to stop looking (albeit unconsciously) for this sharp cutting edge of grief in my body to stop.  I need to stop looking for that elusive something that will take it away.  Cut it away as carefully as a surgeon’s knife, leaving my body and heart as intact as it was for my 24 years with him.  There wouldn’t even be any scarring because that then,in those old days that seem like another century and time, was the real, whole, me.

But, of course, the only thing that will remove it is if my beloved husband returns, and we all know he ain’t gonna do that.  Which is unimaginable to me and probably always will be,but it’s the ugly truth.

Our culture…many cultures, I suspect, are unforgiving of grief.  A certain, quantifiable time is allotted but then there’s just that feeling in the air that society at large is whispering behind their hands oh she’s depressed all she talks about is her husband she’s always sad why doesn’t she appreciate life. 

I’m tired of not allowing the totality of my grief to be present;  truly, it’s exhausting to not show the depths of it.  I’m tired of continually striving to push my way through it.  Tired of holding myself together when, honestly, you know what I want to do?  I want to tear at my clothes, pull at my own hair, curl in a ball on the floor and become the pain that I am.  Allow myself to sob and grieve and shriek my madness at the Universe and dissolve into its’ stars and the moon and the dark nothingness of what is too huge for my feeble human mind to grasp. 

Where is he?  Why is he gone?  What happened to my life?  Where is the part of my soul that mattered most to me?  How the holy fuck hell am I supposed to care about life without him?  How do I do this?  How do I not die from the loneliness of my soul?  How can I live for god knows how many years of my life with this fucking meat-cutter in my chest?  How, how, how, how? 

This man….this man who was my husband, was the keeper of my heart.  I mattered to him more than anyone else in his life and the gone-ness of that knowing has left me dislocated and lacking any sense of direction.

I talk to people throughout my day, like everyone else, as life goes on, but the words in my mind are much different than the words on my lips.  What I’m really saying is I miss you I miss you i miss you I Miss you I miSS You I miss youimissyouimissyouimissyou….ad infinitum…

About Alison Miller

My beloved husband Chuck died while we were full timing on the road. We’d rented a condo for our stay in southern CA, and I had to leave 3 weeks after his death. All I knew at that time was that I had to find a way to continue traveling on my own, because settling down without him made me break into a cold sweat. I knew that the only place I’d find any connection to Chuck again was out on the roads we’d been traveling for our last 4 years together. I knew nobody out on the road, I knew grief was a great isolator, and I knew I had to change the way I traveled without him, to make it more emotionally bearable for me. So I bought a new car, had a shade of pink customized for it, bought a tiny trailer and painted the trim in pink, learned how to tow and camp, and set out alone. My anxiety was through the roof, and all I knew to trust was the Love that Chuck left behind for me. I found Soaring Spirits early on, thank god, and the connections I made through SS helped ground me to some extent. I needed to know that other widow/ers were out there in my world, because I felt so disoriented and dislocated. Through Soaring Spirits, as the miles added up, my rig taking me north, south, east and west, I found community. I found sanity…or at least I learned that if I was bat shit crazy, I was in good company, and realizing that ultimately saved my sanity. PinkMagic, my rig, is covered with hundreds of names of loved ones sent to me by my widowed community, and I know it isn’t visible to the naked eye, but I’ll let you in on a secret…she actually illuminates Love as I drive down the many roads in our country, and I can see it through my side view mirror. Love does, indeed, live on~

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