My ode to joy

Joy that’s not possible. Impossible joy. How can this be? How can this even exist? How is this possible? 

That’s what I think and how I feel when I allow happiness to infiltrate my life, the new chapter in the story of my being. The chapter that began the day My Favourite Husband (MFH) died.

In the immediate time after his death, there was no light, no sunshine, only shadows. I existed in dark; in cold. I wanted to be there. My heart said there was no point in going on. My head said there was. 

It was inconceivable to me the chapter in my book that held my happily ever after was written and completed.

How could that be? How could the man with whom I’d exchanged vows to forever be my always be gone? But he is. The sole key to my happiness. The sole meaning to my life. He was my 'we.' I didn’t want to be 'me.' I didn’t want any of this new life. None of it.

But when light hit me, I knew that’s where I belong.  I worked hard — so hard — to crawl out of the darkness. I chose to heal slowly, at my pace, in my time. I chose to embrace all that life has to offer. I chose to laugh and cry — in joy and sorrow; in love and grief. I chose it all.

So joy. I remember the first time I laughed after MFH died. The sound of it was unnatural to my ears. I winced at it, laughter emitting out of a throat that was raw from the crying, the railing against God. But the remark that inspired it was funny and something both MFH and I would’ve laughed at in the past, so I laughed.

Humour is so essential to who I am; such a big part of what makes me 'me.' It seems that it hadn’t left when my heart was pummelled but just in hiding until the time was right to take a peek and test the waters. It was welcomed: unexpected but welcomed. 

And so the door opened to my unconventional widowhood — or, as I like to call it, widowhood my way.  'Widowhood my way' was me taking my boots to what people expected me to say and do along with how and when. As I’ve written before, that doesn’t work for me so I’m doing things my way, including choosing joy and happiness. 

Some of the people I’ve encountered in my widowhood journey are disapproving of my joy. They turn up their noses and tell me that it “hasn’t been long enough.” Long enough for what?  For MFH to become undead? Whatever…

Let’s go back to talking about joy. Joy, it’s in my aquasize classes. It’s in the music I play; music that is mainstream and new music in different genres that I’m discovering through one of my closest friends.

Joy in exchanging life stories with the people who are the closest to my heart. Joy in meeting new people on my airplanes. Joy in good food shared with good people. Joy in conversations that are so off the wall, so bizarre and so inappropriate that they are funny, not offensive.

Joy in a bite of high-quality chocolate. Joy in an ice cold beer, or in a perfect glass of sangria.

Joy in the exchanging of a smile with strangers.

Joy in remembering all the amazing years I was fortunate to share with MFH. 

After 16 months of me, is it really wrong that I’m choosing the joy that life offers to balance out the grief that life offers?

No, it’s never wrong to choose what’s right for me when it’s right for me. So, if you’re looking for me, follow the sound of my laughter ringing and I celebrate a memory with MFH from the past or as I share in a memory I’m making now, in the moment.

Should you choose to allow it, I wish you joy in your lives as well.

❤️