Second Time Around

It is 11:32 pm, Christmas Night, and I got through my second Christmas without my love with me. It's hard to say how I feel. There is no word to describe it. But it's not good.

I made the Christmas Eve dinner last night like I usually did, and my extended family came over and we unwrapped gifts and partied. I laughed and smiled and drove myself crazy making sure everything was just perfect. Today I went to my brother's house to celebrate Christmas with my extended family and celebrate my niece's birthday, who was born on Christmas Day. Again, fun, laughter, jokes and a lot of wine.

But the whole time, and still, I have a nagging, troubled, and for lack of a better word, "yucky" feeling in the pit of my stomach, over the fact that he is not here. It's amazing how I can partake in happy times, yet be so sad at the same time! It's confusing and uncomfortable, and impossible to explain with mere words. And it's not that this only happens on Christmas, it just happens to be a bit magnified during this time.

So, since I can't really explain how I feel, I'll just stop writing for now. I miss him so much, maybe it is just time for a good cry.

Merry Christmas, my love. I miss you more than words can say.

It's Not My Fault

I was on Facebook the other day and I read a post by Hyla Molander, a widow/author/inspirational speaker. She was a young widowed mom about 8 years ago, and is now happily remarried with another child by her second husband. She often posts about how thankful she is with her new family and, in her words, “amazing husband”, in addition to posting about her late husband as well. She seems like a happy, upbeat person who has had her share of hard times and has gotten through most of them successfully. Something that most widows strive for after such a horrible loss, but unfortunately, don’t always achieve.

Well, the other day on Facebook, she posted, Just now, the yoga instructor had us open our hearts. When I opened mine, I realized it is still broken. I thought that was really profound, to tell you the truth. Here we have a woman who has seemingly got through and past the bad times to create an awesome and happy life for herself and her children, and then, unexpectedly while meditating, she opened her heart to find that it is still broken, after all these years.

She still misses her first husband. Even though she has built this wonderful life for herself, her heart still breaks for her first husband. And even though I was sorry for Hyla when I read the post, I was also relieved to have read this, because I’ve always thought that my heart will always be broken, no matter where this life takes me or what life I choose to create or not. It made me question myself as to whether or not I was really learning to move forward in my life, and I was starting to feel like it was my “own damn fault” that I am still nursing a broken heart.

Well, now I know it’s not true, and I know it is not my fault. The validation really meant a lot.

Chronic Pain

I was talking to some of my colleagues today, and one of them asked me, "How are you doing?" I said I was alright, but she clarified, "No, how are you really doing? How are things at home?" I said, "Well...I'm not over it. It still sucks."

"Has it gotten any better? Easier?" she asked me.

I had to think for a moment. Was it better? No, certainly not better! Was it easier? Hell, no, far from easier. "I'm getting used to it," I answered. That was the best I could do; I could not think of any other way to put it.

"Used to it?" she clarified.

"Yeah, used to it. You know, like when someone has chronic pain. Like my friend who was in a car accident a long time ago...she has chronic pain in her arm 24/7. That's how it is for me. It is a chronic pain, only the pain is in my heart. I've gotten used to it being there. I'm learning to live with it, but I don't like it. I never will. I wish it would go away. But I know it's never going to go away. So I'm getting used to it."

She got it.

Hats

If I can consider myself "lucky" for anything, it is that before Bobby died, we were able to say everything we needed to say to each other. Neither one of us had any doubt for the love that we had for each other. No issue was left unresolved and when he died I had no regrets as to something I should have said or done, or something that should have been discussed.

Until now.

Let me explain. Bobby never liked to wear hats. No matter how cold it got, he refused to wear a hat. We were together for 19 years, and I think it took me until our 15th year together to finally convince him to wear a hat one day when we took the kids to see the Christmas windows in New York City. It was a bitterly cold day between Christmas and New Year's, and the boys and I were bundled up with earmuffs, hats, scarves and mittens. Bobby had on his leather jacket, no gloves and no hat. When he started complaining about the cold, I did not say a word. Instead, I gave him a look which prompted him to take $5 out of his wallet and buy a black knitted cap from some guy on the street. Several minutes later when I asked him if he felt better, he smiled and said "Yes". Finally, he wore a hat! After that day, he would occasionally take out that cap to wear while shoveling snow or working outside in the cold, but for the most part, he never wore another hat again as long as I knew him.

Fast forward to about two weeks ago. I was in Florida and I met up with my stepdaughter, who gave me a bunch of pictures of Bobby from when he was in his 20s. (I met him when he was 35). In about half the pictures, he is wearing a hat! Cowboy hat, engineer's hat, baseball cap - all different types of hats. Yet when I met him, he said he hated hats and would not wear one.

So folks, here is my one unresolved issue. I knew I couldn't be that lucky to have NO unresolved issues with him. I'll never know why he decided he didn't like hats. But as far as issues go, at least this is a minor, and somewhat humorous one!