WHO AM I NOW?

In talking with an old friend yesterday—recently widowed and in that oh-so-new-place of figuring out life without them—I found myself musing about who I am at mile marker 314 days. It’s hard not to compare life “then” with life “now”. The feeling, no longer new but never normal, of something missing; the yin without the yang. Me without you.

It feels like things come in phases and in some ways it is helpful to frame it in parts. Feeling the whole thing at once, as my friend seems to be feeling right now, is overwhelming. Overpowering to the point that we doubt our ability to cope.

Thank goodness for widowed folk who remind us that we not only can exist—we can thrive.

As I muse over this, I realize that there is still so much of me that is the same.

 

I AM STILL A NIGHT OWL

So often, when I would awake in the wee hours of the morning, or late, late in the night, you would wake up and search the house, trying to find me. Some idea sprang to my mind that needed writing down, or a project due would not let me rest, or a busy household’s quietest time for work may just be at 3:00 am.

That’s still me.

Weighing out the cost is never far from the idea of this habit. It is (although it may not look like it) a measured choice. And I did it this morning to get this blog going…at 3:33 am.

 

I AM STILL A PROCRASTINATOR

I STILL PLAN IN MY HEAD MORE THAN MY BODY CAN KEEP UP WITH

You provided natural boundaries surrounding time when you were here. We lived “our” life, so naturally there was a give and take of how much we fit into the daily, weekly, monthly, schedule. We rarely discussed it, having such different rhythms as we did, but a boundary existed and if schedules got out of whack, we noticed; adjusting to find equilibrium again.

It occurs to me that you might disagree with my viewpoint on this. I can hear you teasing me about it right now. XO

 

I STILL LET THE DOG ON THE BED

When you and Ash were alive, we never agreed about keeping her off our bed. She was big, not a tiny thing, but I loved the feeling of her live furry self against my leg. When I called her onto the bed, when you were out of town (“to keep me company!” I said) she was lulled into false circumstances. She found this out the first night you’d arrive home and she was booted off the bed, wearing her resigned look and hearing my apologies that immediately followed.

Ash, our faux marriage counselor, was our tool for using humor to manage our differences and to soften the ways we would occasionally step on each other’s toes by being ourselves.

“Ash! Mom is being mean to me!”

“Ash! Go bite him! He is making up stories again!”

 

I STILL LOVE YOU ALWAYS AND FOREVER

The gift of love remains in loss—transformed into memories. 

Our love somehow deepens when I take the time to treasure the memories—so many memories—and it feels like a continuation of our life together that we build from a distance. Mysteriously. I speak to you now in the same way I spoke to you then. I thank you for all you’ve taught me. I ask forgiveness for the ways I’ve failed you. I call you into action on my behalf (help! now!) and on behalf of our children.

Nothing can replace your warm, loving arms around me.

But somehow, your are still with me.

The Yin and the Yang remain.

Different.

But the same.

I love you, Dan — always and forever. XO