I do love writing for Widows Voice. It's my saving grace each week.
But I also struggle, many weeks, to come up with something to write here.
Not because I have nothing to write about.
But because there is so much to write about that words and sentences fail me.
Each time I sit down to write, here or on my personal blog, or on my Happily Homeless page, I struggle with how honest I should be, need to be, want to be.
Not because I'm concerned about being honest, really, but how many times can you say the same thing in different, interesting ways? And how honest can I be without people worrying that I'm suicidal or depressed or any of the other judgements waiting out in the atmosphere?
Do I write about how I'm figuring out this widowhood, bravely marching through and on and forward? Building and creating a life for myself, doing Chuck proud, all of which is true...
But, honestly, doesn't mean a thing to me.
And I know you understand what I mean when I write that.
Or, do I write honestly, from deep in my heart, about what a battle it is to not let despair take over, and exhaustion.
When I was first given the opportunity to write here, I seized on it as a responsibility that would ensure that I had at least one thing that required me to show up each week.
It is still my saving grace each week, whether I stare at the empty page with a blank mind or not.
This past weekend I stepped out in public to share my story officially, for the first time. Presentations and workshops around the country…that’s what I’m doing with this next part of my life. And it was wonderful and beautiful and I felt powerful and sure and certain. Who knows my story better than I, right?
But, at the end of the day, as I drove my rig back to where I’m currently housesitting, I felt so fucking alone. No matter how amazing it was, I still sat down in the house with a bowl of cereal for supper, and watched a show on my laptop. Yes, I spoke to my kids, I spoke to friends, because I can’t give in to the loneliness and I know I’m the only one who can change the energy, blah, blah, blah.
But…you know…still alone, and silence was everywhere around me. Most especially, in my heart.
It would be so very easy to fade away. Take my rig and drive off into the wilderness somewhere and just be there until...I don’t have a clue.
But I don’t want to worry my kids, or those who love me, so I don’t. And I fight the despair and loneliness and broken shreds of my being.
And every Tuesday evening, I write my blog here.
So I don’t fade away.