Widow's Voice

What Now?…

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This blog is a question for the Universe, I suppose.

Because I don’t believe that there is a human alive, who has gone through this widowed life, who would have a ready answer for me.

I’ve stood in the middle of nowhere and cast my eyes up into azure blue skies…

I’ve stood outside on the darkest of dark nights with no light pollution around and let my eyes drift from one star to another…

I’ve stood in the midst of a crowd of people, all who love me…

I’ve stood with strangers…

I’ve been busy, I’ve distracted myself, I’ve practiced being in the moment, being still…

I’ve criss-crossed the country 8 times in these 6 1/2 years since Chuck’s death…

I’ve workamped at an opera camp…

I’ve greeted thousands of guests as I worked the front gate of a Renaissance Faire…

I’ve done everything I could think of…

I’ve pushed into all that was in front of me…

And now I stand still and wonder…

What now, Universe?

Why do I feel so fucking empty in my heart and soul?

The only thing that engages any passion in me is my Odyssey of Love.

Talking about it, answering questions about it, presenting it.

It makes me feel alive.

But I can’t do that around the clock every day of the week/month/year.

Honestly, unless I’m doing that, I feel empty.

Which is, I guess, an improvement over the shards of glass in my chest feeling that I carried around for the first 3 years or so.

I’m not even worried about whether this feeling of emptiness is normal at this point. I don’t care if it’s normal or not; it’s what I feel. 

I’m just curious if anyone else feels such stark emotional emptiness like this, or is it just me?

I feel this even though I have friends and family and grandkids and people who love me and social activities I engage in.

None of these relationships diminish this emptiness. I get the feeling sometimes that grandkids are supposed to fill that space in, but with all the Love in the world that I have for mine, no, they don’t.

Because, at the end of whatever day I’m living…

I’m still alone.

I close the door to my trailer, or bedroom if I’m staying in a house.

I toss all the decorative pillows that sit on the bed I’ve created for myself that is absolutely gorgeous, onto the floor.

And I climb into a bed that is empty of the man I love.

I don’t curl up against his back, or feel him snug in close to me, his arm draping over me, hugging me.

I don’t whisper off to sleep knowing that I’m the most loved, most beloved, in the Universe.

Is this it?

Another man isn’t going to fill this space.

Even with another to love,

Chuck is still and always…dead.

The space next to me is empty.

That space is empty in my heart, too.

No matter what I fucking DO.

So, I ask you, Universe…

What now?

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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