Ten weeks of reruns begin this Friday. Anniversaries of bad news after bad news. The beginning and sometimes what I feel like was the end. I know and understand logically that I am still here on Earth. That I am still breathing and participating in life. What I know at the same time however is that part of my soul was taken almost three years ago. A part of me died that day too.
I started this blog post several weeks ago and it was so negative that I didn’t feel like I could post it. So I have patiently waited and waited for everything to fall into place. Waited for things to align.
“You are so weird.” A colleague referred to me this week after asking about a part of my life that has become uncomfortable and difficult. I find no offense in the comment. In fact I responded “I know.”
I know that all of you extroverts out there find my “private nature” to be odd or weird as I was referred to this week. As a general rule I’m an extremely private person and yes, I realize this is contradictory to what this blog presents. I’m stunted in my verbal communication abilities and thus writing works for me. I am a better listener than a talker and when asked a question I am direct and straight forward.
I remember walking into a classroom not that long ago and making an off hand comment about my children driving me crazy. It was not necessarily negative, simply indicative of the morning we had. Who knows now what happened that particular day. It could have been spilled milk as we were walking out the door or it could have been the ultimate throw down over pants with buttons. (Yes, the struggle is real. They simply do not like pants with buttons.)
Anyhow, the point is that as I complained about my amazing children, the teacher in front of me simply smiled. Little did I know she and her husband had been trying for some time to have children. My one simple comment that I didn’t think twice about probably made her cringe. The same way that the person who told me a few days ago that it was easier to deal with her kids when her husband wasn’t around. That she wishes he just stayed away made me inhale sharply.
Last week I met with my grandmother at a McDonald’s to say hi as I passed through her town while traveling home from Kentucky. An older man (87 to be exact) approached our table and asked her how long she’d been married. She responded with 30 years. “Huh,” he huffed. “My wife and I have been married 64.” He turns to me, “These the only two you have? “Yes.” “Huh,” he replies again.
Like me, my grandmother is widowed as well. I’m sure she would have liked to say she was married 60 years however life doesn’t always give us the choice. Sometimes things happen outside of our control. Would I have had more children? I’m not sure. I’d like to think maybe, but that was not a choice I was given.
I always circle back to the friend who told me right after Daniel died that only I could handle this. I often wonder what she saw in me that I am missing right now. I have suffered through as many “I miss daddy’s” as my heart can handle. I have fought as many battles on my own as I can. I am trying my damndest to “handle this” but I can admit that I am not doing it with grace. I am doing it by then skin of my teeth.
“Suck it up buttercup,” comes to mind from another friend. She doesn't use it with me but I can hear her voice now. I agree. I gain nothing from wallowing. I will get up tomorrow, put on my heels and find this strength that others believe I have. I will continue to move forward. I will persevere.
“It’s the lack of faith that makes people afraid of meeting challenges, and I believe in myself.” Muhammad Ali
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.