How can your life be reduced to boxes? Boxes filled with stuff. Stuff associated with memories.
I have been fine. I have been fine dammit.
Fine until I emptied my closet. Why does this closet have so much power over me? Maybe because it has become my sanctuary and my safe spot.
I stand in the closet and my shoulders quake. Why do I feel an overwhelming sense of leaving you behind? All these things flash through my mind.
The night we moved in. I was 28 weeks pregnant with Reed and you and everyone else that was here were getting on my nerves so I refused to go to dinner. I needed space. I needed peace. None of you were surprised.
I remember you all coming home and just standing there staring at all that I had accomplished. It still makes me smile.
The play set. I sat in the swing tonight and flew as high as I could, reaching for you. The amount of curse words that flew from your mouth during that building process is unheard of, but wow were you proud to say you built thing from several flat boxes. The boys have cherished every single moment on that structure, thanks to you. We sat together and swung on the very swings together after your diagnosis.
Your space upstairs. Your chair. Our couch. Your fish. Your television that is older than hell but I still chose to move because it was your first purchase over ten years ago and I remember how proud you were of that purchase.
I mowed the final time yesterday as well and you know what, the weed eater started on the first pull. I left the yard as you wanted it. As you always had it. I will never forget shoveling seven tons of rock with you. We were both proud of that adventure and you were right it looked amazing.
Damn the closet. I turned up the music and slid to the ground searching for my breath. Slowly your things have been moved, boxed, donated. The closet held your clothes. The closet held my hand. The closet kept me upright and was my haven for the past two years.
I am leaving this home that was ours. I am leaving our space and our memories. I am however not leaving you. You will come with us and surround us in our new home. We will never be without your presence and thank you for our future.
So long River Lake Court.
I am round, solid, and silver. I am the ball in a pinball machine. And I am pinging.
Every time I begin to settle and fall to the bottom, seeking peace, someone flips the triangle handle and the flying and pinging begins again.
Being in this machine is hell. My own personal hell. No one can eliminate the feelings and no one can remove the pain. I feel that if I can run farther. If I can pack more crap. If I turn the music louder. If I have one more glass of wine, it will eliminate these feelings.
I know better. You must face what is trying to take you down.
Last week was the final straw. Enough was enough. I turned to the one person who had the power to help me at the moment. I sat and watched Daniel’s videos from beginning to end. I listened to his voice, heard his message and cried my body weight in tears. I sat under the window, in the ikat patterned chair, where I watched the hearse pull out of my driveway two years ago. A window that will soon belong to someone else.
There is something to be said about our house selling at this time of year. He knew the weight was dragging me down. He knew I was finally ready. The one place that brought me so much solace at the beginning of our loss was now sending me pinging as well.
His private words to me were to move forward. He reminded me of what we built together but that I had to keep living. The words were reminders to all of us that loved him to live. Not just to exist but to do.
It’s unbelievable that two years have passed. My memories are growing fuzzy. How can that be? How can you spend more than a decade with one person and those memories not be cemented in your mind? That is time. That is what happens. The daily routines have changed. The daily reminders slowly slipping away.
Because of him I am ready to move forward. I am ready to choose happiness. I am ready to open my world again. Thank you love for your strength. Thank you for the encouragement and the push. Thank you for being you.
Meet the Author (me)
Driven by a need to help others. I have known from a young age that this is what I wanted to do. This is my very real, somewhat sarcastic, look into my newfound widowhood. I hope this site will help you as much as it helps me.