Widow's Voice

Word Confusion~

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We each define this widowed walk for ourselves, of course.

The grief we carry is as individual as a thumb print, we’re told.

Which makes sense, of course.

For myself, I’ve never used the word lost to describe this grief.

Being lost implies to me that I have a destination in mind.

An end point.

And I don’t.

My words to describe this have been dislocated. Disoriented. Discombobulated. Displaced. Diswrought.

Also, I have no idea what the word healing means, so I’ve never used it in reference to myself.

It’s too pressure filled a word for me.

I’m getting along, I suppose. My outer life would certainly reflect that I’m doing that.

I go out. I mingle. I’m around my family at various times.

Always with me, however, is that hollow feeling.

I wouldn’t say that I’m grieving still.

But I do feel hollow.

Maybe that’s what healing means.

I don’t much worry about it; I just keep the energy moving.

I also struggle with the word hope and what it means.

The life I have now isn’t better than the life I had with Chuck.

And I wonder if any of you…those who had a good, strong, solid, loving, marriage/relationship…

How is it for you?

If you hold your life now up to the life you had with your person…

Is this one measureably better, and have you found true happiness again? And what does that mean, if you have?

If your person came back, would you exchange this life for that life again?

Questions for the ages.

And the shit I think about all the time~

 

 

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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