He is NOT a Goldfish

Death is NOT divorce. I cannot believe how many people have already told me "don't worry, you will find someone else". WHAT?!?! He's gone seven weeks and already they're writing him off. And two of them did it AT THE WAKE. He was in his casket, less than 10 feet away from me (if that) and I was told twice that I would find someone else. That I could replace him like a goldfish.

Well, here's a newsflash, folks. I don't want anyone else. I cannot believe that anyone would even think to say that to me. It's not like we got divorced and can't stand to think about each other. I mean, I still love him. I'm still "married" on my FB page and I still wear my wedding band. I can't take it off. In my heart, I'm married to the love of my life.

In addition to the two people that said something AT THE WAKE (of which I am still in shock), another friend, who couldn't make it to the wake contacted me later on and the first thing she said was, "I'm so sorry. But don't start comparing every guy to him. Your next relationship will be different, and it wouldn't be fair to the guy to constantly be compared." WHAT?!?! Truthfully, when you've had the best, you could care less about the rest.

Then there was the meanest of all, and this came from a guy who actually liked my husband....and shed a tear or two at the wake. I was talking to a young woman at a social function and telling her all about the pictures I have in the house and how I put one up at work, and how I ordered a charm necklace from a company that has his fingerprint on it. The fingerprint is of his left ring finger, and I wear his wedding band on a chain around my neck. The next thing I know, her father, who has been half-listening to our conversation, says to me, "Look, I hate to say this.." (then don't) "...but the harsh reality is that Bob is gone and he is not coming back. You can't live in a museum dedicated to him. You have to put that stuff away and find a man." I was so insulted and angry that I had to bite my tongue and hold on to my chair because I was ready to strangle him but I wasn't going to do so in front of his daughter. I simply said, "But if I am happy and comfortable living in what you call a museum, isn't that all that counts?" And he said, "Heroine addicts are happy when they are on heroin. Does that make it OK?" I could not believe it. I was floored. I told him that comparing my situation to heroin addicts is like comparing apples and oranges and he just shook his head.

This insult was twofold as far as I'm concerned. First of all, I don't need the harsh "reality check"...I'm living it every single day. Second of all, why in hell do I "need a man" to be happy? Seriously?? As if to say a single woman cannot be a happy woman?

Being single certainly is not my choice. I still feel married anyway...married to Bobby. I want to be married to him, and not anyone else. And like I said before, when you've experienced the best, to hell with all the rest.

Going to Bed and Waking Up

One of the worst parts about being a widow is going to bed at night and waking up in the morning....alone. My husband and I had some of our best conversations in the morning if we both woke up around the same time. And even though I had to get up earlier than he did for work, on the weekends he had a tendency to wake up before me, and he would get ready for the day in the dark so he wouldn't wake me.

I started the first couple of days after he died sleeping on my side of the bed, with his side empty. I would look at his pillow and the big empty space and cry myself to sleep. I've since moved to the middle of the bed for two reasons...I couldn't stand the big space to my left, and the pillow was gone. My 11-year-old took the pillow to sleep on. He says it makes him feel close to his Daddy. I was a little bummed out at first, but then it was OK. Bobby had fleece that he wore while he was sick one morning for a few hours. He never wore it after that, though, because it was warm in the house. Now I sleep with the fleece. I like having it there. It's not a replacement by any means, but it takes away a very small part of the loneliness that I deal with every night when I go to bed. Not a lot, but a little bit. Just something of his that is there when I sleep.

Now the sound of silence in the morning is absolutely deafening. I talk to him, and hopefully he is talking back to me. Yes, I talk to him, out loud. I guess some people might consider me a little crazy. Hey, maybe I am? But if talking to my husband makes me feel just a tad bit better, helps me get through the silent morning part of the day, then who's place is it to judge? (A lot of people judge, but that'll be a whole other entry one day.) I've tried putting on the radio and the television, but neither of these even come close to the conversation we would have in the morning. Even if we were both tired (especially on a work day when we had to get up really early) and we didn't say much, we still knew the other was there. And he never left in the morning without kissing me goodbye!

I'm thinking I might want to include in this blog some of the humorous things that my husband liked to do or some of the funny things he has said. When we would wake up on a Saturday or Sunday morning, and we knew we were going to lie there and talk for a little while, he would go and brush his teeth, then come back to bed to talk. He said he never wanted me to smell his bad breath. He was so funny that way, and quite considerate, too. (I mean, who really wants to smell someone's bad breath?) And I can honestly say in the 19 years we were together, I never smelled any bad breath on him!! I thought that was one of the cutest things that he did.

He Lives On

I have never in my life gone through so many emotions, some simultaneously, as when I lost my husband to cancer. So I thought I might start this blog to try to describe some of these feelings. It's not going to be as straightforward as I thought. My mind moves a lot faster than my fingers on the keyboard.

I never thought I would be a widow at my age. It's something that you think only happens to old people and occasionally an unlucky young person here or there, (the youngest I heard of was 24 years old), but you never think it will happen to you. Bobby (my husband) and I used to joke around that I would out-live him, based on statistics. He was 9 years older than me, he was male, and the women in my family have a habit of living really long anyway. I guess I always knew it would happen, but I figured I would be at least in my 70s! Never thought it would be in my 40s.

The day that they told me he was going to pass, I set up my Ipod and played his favorite songs for him. I talked to him all day. I gave him lots of kisses and hugs. I loved lying next to him and hugging him while he rested. When he died...I mean the minute that I found out, was very sad and almost surreal...like it wasn't true. The love of my life was gone, how could that possibly be? He was still at my side, I could touch him and kiss him, so it couldn't be true. When the priest came to give him last rites, I could barely hold myself together but there were all these people around and I could not fall apart with them all around. So I didn't. I can't figure out how, but I didn't.

However, I could not stay in the house alone. I mean, the kids were home, but I needed someone else. My sister offered to stay, and just knowing she was on the couch was a comfort but to this day I don't know why it was. It wasn't like she was in the room with me or anything, and we didn't even talk to each other after we said "Good Night"...we just went to sleep.

I guess my point is that I was feeling emotions that I didn't even know existed. It goes beyond sadness. It doesn't even have a name. Grief doesn't even describe it. Grief is just a part of it, as is sadness. I cannot think of one word in the English language to describe the emotions that I dealt with on that day, and still deal with today, 6 1/2 weeks later, on a daily basis. I can tell you though, that none of it is good. There is no silver lining when losing a husband. All those sayings about making lemonade out of lemons do not apply here. When people tell me he is in a better place, I have a hard time with that, too. His place is with me. We were like one person. When he died, half of me died, too, that will never come back to life. But I'm still whole, because half of him lives on in me. I talk to him every day and look for signs of him talking to me. And dammit...he does.