As Life Continues~

It goes on, doesn’t it?  Whether we wish it or not, whether we have the energy for it, or not.  Life goes on after our husbands and wives and lovers and partners die. 

It just goes on.

Life after this huge death impacts us in so many ways that are incalculable beforehand.  Even when you’ve prepared the wills and the DNR and you’ve talked in as many ways as you can about what you each want and your one who is dying has said please carry on without me.  Please be happy.  Please find someone to love again.  I’ll be there with you.   And in return you’ve promised that you’ll be okay somehow and you’ll always remember him/her and you’ll make it work. 

Even though.

Even though we all know that no matter how much talking is done, there is no way to prepare for the reality of widowhood.  None.  Nada.  Zero.  Zilch.  Even though you think you have. 

You haven’t.

There is no preparation for the devastation, the despair, the pain of grief, the stripping away of a life, the loneliness, the (most often) enormous financial changes, the change of lifestyle, the responsibilities carried now by one instead of two, the necessity of making a new life at a time when all the aforementioned shit is happening.   How can anyone have any knowing of this, before it happens?

The after-knowing….ahhh, yes.  Now we know.  We know a secret that none should know and yet, because life happens, and death happens in life, we will all, at some point, be made privy to the same secret.

That, fuck, life does indeed continue on, and it drags us kicking and screaming while we attempt to fulfill our promises to them.  Yes, I’m trying to be okay somehow and ohgodyesIrememberyounowandalwaysandforever and yes, I’ll keep trying to make it work somehow.  Yes, yes, yes…

And it works better on some days than others but, you know….whatever.  I give myself credit for just showing up anymore.

I don’t know, folks.  I have no answers as to how we do this.  Shit, I don’t even know the questions any longer… but the great thing about that is that I don’t give a grand flying fuck minute of worry or anxiety about not having questions or answers. 

All I’m doing these days is trusting in the Love that Chuck left behind for me.  In my heart I listen to his final words every damn day;  No matter what, I will always, always be with you.  And no matter how long it is until I see you again, I will see you again.  And you remember every day…every day…  P.S.  I love you.

I just don’t need any more than that. 


Showing 7 reactions

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  • commented 2016-07-16 12:40:27 -0700
    For me it’s not so much about trusting in the love that my husband left behind for me. I think there is something else that the death of my dearest beloved has done to me that is irreconcilable, irretrievable and has damaged me beyond repair.

    It goes so deep. I just can’t dig far enough down in myself to reveal it. To understand what it would take to be better than I am…… which at this point is just existing. Too many think that the death of love is just part of living. I’m not sure about that. To call living in this very surreal place doesn’t count as living. It looks familiar to living but is not in any way shape or form providing the same visceral elements of my prior experience which I did consider living..

    Nope, I am just existing. Biding my time and waiting for my day out…….and hating every minute of it. After this long it may look like a do a lot more nowadays but I am just as disconnected from the world around me as I was the day he died. For me this is not about faking it, making it or surviving. It’s about letting the world know this pain is real, excruciating and irreducible, isn’t going away and to stop thinking medicating me, talking me through it, or giving me praise for what I am doing is going to change the way I feel.

    He’s gone. I went with him. I’m the ghost and location has not made a damn bit of difference for me. I float in a constant sea of sorrow with no raft, no life ring, no land. Tossed about by the waves and at any time the potential to get swept up into the tsunami and pushed along with the roaring tide is everpresent. I write, I read and I cry. I’m tired and I want out. Being without my love has just ruined me. I admit it. I give.
  • commented 2016-07-05 12:14:28 -0700
    Very well said. I’ve now been widowed three times – once in my 30’s, then in my 50’s and now in my 70’s. I thought I had learned how to just get through all the pain, the readjustments, but the truth is that I haven’t. Each marriage was so different and the reasons I married were so different from one to the other. But one thing is constant. When that moment comes, when your partner takes that last breath, your world changes forever……………again.
  • commented 2016-06-30 16:52:26 -0700
    Exactly! There is no preparation. 25 months tomorrow and I still wonder how this can be my life.
  • commented 2016-06-30 11:23:17 -0700
    Your words are precisely the way I feel! Thank you for expressing them so beautifully!!
    I wish I didn’t know what I know!!! It hurts too much!!!
  • commented 2016-06-29 21:26:36 -0700
    You really wrote this so real how I feel. We are never prepared for widowhood – even if you think you could of been. It just goes on and we try our best.
  • commented 2016-06-29 18:38:40 -0700
    You got that right regarding thinking I was prepared for widowhood. As my husband lay dying, a hospice nurse said “I am so so sorry for you”. I thought I knew what she meant, but in no way did I really know what was in store for me. Yep, it just goes on.
  • commented 2016-06-29 18:00:04 -0700
    Absolutely true. There are no answers as to how we do this. My life will never be the same.