When death occurs unfortunately many things begin to shift. Not necessarily for the worst but also not always for the best. The best people in my life continue to speak of my husband. They acknowledge the loss but also acknowledge the man he was. Sadly this is not the majority. People continually avoid talking about Daniel, even two years later. They won’t even whisper his name, as if that small feat would bring the wrath of hell down upon them.
Small talk occurs at work, amongst neighbors, even among family members, but everyone pretends he simply never existed. Please acknowledge the elephant in the room. We all know he is not invisible. And yes I am completely aware that my husband is dead. As if I will ever be able to forget that.
The loss of my husband changed me as a person. I am no longer the woman I once was and will never be the same. For friends and family, many may not see the changes as positive. That is okay. I take responsibility. For those of you that I have lost touch with, know it’s not you, it's me. My perspectives on life, on choices, on the way I spend my time are different now.
It was so extremely difficult to feel good again. The guilt of participating in any activities at all brought so much heavy burden after his death. I remember not being able to read after the loss. To many, not reading is probably a ridiculous thing. To me, however, books have always been a big part of my life, one of my great loves. A way to get lost and enjoy “me” time. I had lost the ability to live.
I am however finding my voice again, finding my breath. Learning how to participate in life again, albeit without him.
In our recent move many people kept asking me how I was doing it, why was I choosing to do things on my own. Such a simple question to others with a not so simple answer. I was working through my grief. Physical labor has been a saving grace for me. I had a few helpers here and there but I had to box up our life. I had to close that chapter on my own.
During the move friends talked to me about being careful with my “nice” furniture. Let me be clear in stating its just furniture. Furniture. I don't care what we paid for it. I don’t care how nice it is. These dressers and chest of drawers are simply vessels for our belongings. If you dropped the dresser with me outside on the sidewalk or dented something, trust me, it’s not a big deal. I even forgive the one that busted the 4000 piece Death Star that Daniel and I both spent weeks constructing. Its just stuff. Stuff that can be replaced. Stuff that fills space.
That is perspective. Perspective from someone who has experienced significant trauma. My husband died. My best friend was taken from me. My children grieve every day. I promise, I don't give a shit about scratching my dresser. It's simply a piece of furniture. And yes I acknowledge I am a different person today. You are correct in recognizing that my demeanor, my thoughts and who I am has changed. My perspective is now what it is and I promise its not you. Its Me.
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.