Words we are familiar with.
We have, in one way or another, said goodbye to spouses/partners. In tears, begging for forgiveness, in resolution. We have thought, uttered, whispered those words.
Good bye for me, now holds so much more. I get that I may not see a person again. I get that there isn't a reason for death. It sweeps in, takes what it wants and leaves.
I also see that every day is full of good byes. Langston grows another inch (good bye to childhood), a friendship ends with silence, I stand up for myself in a new situation. They are all good byes. The leaving of of something behind. The moving forward, the passing, the stepping away from.
I have a confession to make.
And to many of you it will sound preposterous.
No doubt many of you will think that I am out of touch, delusional or didn’t have a “good” marriage.
Some of you won’t believe me or won’t want to believe me.
I am not of the widow crowd that believes that my husband, Art, was “my one and only love in my life.” I don’t believe God put me on this earth to only be touched by one man’s life or to touch, mold, distract or teach only one man.
I am not dating any more
No seriously, this is just ridiculous.
I stopped dating a few months ago. Why?
Because it was putting a damper on my little widow parade!
I am not sure why these men feel it’s okay to do what they do. I am not sure how they have gotten this far in the dating world. I am not sure how they tell themselves that what they did or said is normal. I'm not sure why Darwin hasn't taken them out of the gene pool yet.
Last weekend we moved.
Our new place is smaller, more intimate.
I like it.
It’s simpler to manage. (There are only so many places Ezra’s left shoe can be!) It makes sorting through the boxes and boxes of stuff I should have sold, much simpler. (If it stays, exactly where is it going to go, Kim?)
And I feel lighter here, less weighed down by stuff and keeping track of the stuff so I can find the stuff.
9-11, 9-11, 9-11, 9-11 It’s everywhere. I, like the rest of the country I suspect, am afraid to write the wrong thing, aware that I do not know what it’s like...And that is where I stop myself. I do know what it’s like.I do know what it feels like in the dark hollowness that filled the first months. I do know the effort it takes to place a foot, then the other on the floor. I can talk with knowledge about leaning into a day that would be “another” one without him.Read more
September 16 the packers come.
September 17 they take it all and move it to our new digs.
I've been clearing out,
getting rid of stuff,
bumping into him.
The last two days I've been sick.
I found myself lying in my bed, the wrong way.
Backwards (head where my feet usually are, feet where my head usually is)
The fever is making me feel backwards.
Two years ago, less than three months after he died, I went looking for him.
I remembered this today, as I made a to-do list. Things that need to happen before two of my three kids fly back east, without me.
Even now, the notion of looking for him makes sense.
So, I went back to the post I wrote on August 4, 2009.
She says to me “Kim, you’re important. Other widows want to meet you. They ask if you will be there.”
I was talking to Michele, the founder of this blog, Camp Widow, Widow’s Village and Soaring Spirits Foundation.
She was trying to convince me to come to widow camp.
I wasn’t going. Even though I live just two hours away.
I wasn’t going.