Widow's grief comes out of nowhere to knock me back ... but not out

Some days, being a widow fucking sucks.

I get it. The deal: you’re born, you live, you die. Hopefully the 'you live' part is long. Hopefully, it’s a life that is lived the way you want it to be. Happiness, sorrow, anger. Grief, regrets. Celebrations. Love. Love of self, love of others. 

And if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll find someone to share your life. Someone to experience those moments with, someone whose continual presence in your world enhances it, sharpens the emotions, amplifies and elevates the experiences.

You share. You live. You go forward together and, with each turn of the calendar page, you create a world together. When you think about the future, you gloss over the part that one day that togetherness will end. Some way. Some how.

I did. 

I was gut punched. Knocked down. Pummelled. I staggered to my feet; refused to give up. Never quit fighting through the repeated blows that the early months dealt. I howled, screamed, cursed. But I didn’t give up. Almost three years in, I’m winning rounds. 

But then something — usually a little thing — will knock me off my feet. A picture that evokes a memory. A social media meme that hits a little too close to home. A couple I pass on the street, holding hands.

The right things hitting at the wrong time. 

That’s when it sucks. That’s when my heart staccatos a bit faster from the pain. That’s when my breathing hurts a little — the sharpness of in and out. The grief that has its edges smoothed out unearths a jagged, fragmented piece that pierces. 

That’s when I miss My Favourite Husband so much, it hurts in every way. That’s when I remember the deal: you’re born, you live, you die. 

No matter how much I love my life now — and I do love my life now — I also loved my life then. 

And I’m torn between this beautiful life I’m living and the beautiful life I lived, knowing I can’t have what I have now without having lost what I had then. 

My grief and my joy hold hands in my life usually in balance but sometimes not. Sometimes one tugs firmly for attention, tilting my world.

Those are the days that being a widow fucking sucks.

❤️