Today is my birthday.
This blog will post on Friday, and so by the time you read this, it will no longer be my birthday.
But right now, this minute, Thursday, September 26th, at almost midnight, it is the end of my birthday.
This year, I am 42.
This is the 3rd birthday without my husband.
My first birthday without him was so awful, I don't like to think about it much. It was only a couple months after his sudden death, and I was 39 years old, and turning 40. I had teased him constantly that he had better make a huge deal over my 40th birthday, and that he had better have something "epic" planned - some sort of incredible surprise. Well, "SURPRISE!!! I'm dead!"
I am jealous of old people.
Every single old person that I see walking down the street. I am jealous of them.
The bitter ones.
The wrinkled up, exhausted by life ones.
The healthy ones.
The sick ones.
The ones who have made it into their late 80's or even early 90's, and who are still walking side by side with their partners.
The husband who grabs his wife's fragile hand, pulling her up that last small step, into their favorite diner.
The wife who rubs soothing lotion or cream into her husband's back and neck, in places where he can no longer reach on his own.
Grief Is ...
Grief is that feeling where nothing is flat. There are mountains and hills and mud, and giant pieces of glass. There is fire and lightning and floods, and you are walking in it, without any shoes on. In the dark.
Grief is scolding hot and chilled to the bone. It gets in your nails and leaves you unwhole.
I used to love Corn Nuts. My husband Don hated Corn Nuts and used to make fun of me all the time for eating them."What is the attraction to these things?" he would say. "Its like eating plywood."
"Yes, but it's cheese-flavored plywood!", I would retort as I crunched close to his face to purposely annoy him. "Jesus, could they be any louder? I think that's the loudest food on earth." "You're the loudest food on earth".
I never really liked running. Never really saw the point. For exercise? Sure, but I’d much rather play a sport or go swimming or do just about anything other than feel the pounding of my flattened and worn-out feet, screaming for mercy against the hot and unforgiving pavement. Or feel my knees hurting and buckling and cracking with each breath, showing their severe weakness and obvious disapproval of this evil form of torture.Read more
I am nowhere near ready to start "dating" again, or "getting myself out there" again, or fall in love again. I am still madly and deeply in love with my dead husband, and I am just not in that place where it feels right to invite someone new into this life with me. Not now. Not yet. I don't know when.
However, there is something that I do want. Let me rephrase that - there is something that I desperately need more and more each day and each hour, after just passing the 2-year mark of my husband's sudden death: