As the days and weeks go by, the days between sadness bouts lengthen. At nearly one year, I think I am finally reaching the “Acceptance” stage of grief. My Love really is not coming home. I really DO have to raise four kids on my own. There really is no other alternative. Or rather, the cycle of grief has finally hit “Acceptance” but I know that I may cycle through the stages many other times. At least that’s what the therapist says. Some other widows tell me “it takes five years to feel ‘normal’ again,” others say, “you never get over it.” I think, “what’s ‘normal?’” I am learning that life just is and there really is no such thing as “normal.” Who defines normal? Who’s normal is it? Each of us has our own salvation to work out, we have our own call from God, so how can there really be a “normal” life that we are all supposed to measure our lives against.
The days are getting easier. The kids and I can actually talk about My Love without the threat of tears. We can laugh at his quirks. The way he used to get up in the morning and go out to get his Wall Street Journal in his flannel pj pants and a “wife beater” t-shirt (aka “A Shirt” style). Try as we might to get him to wear a regular t-shirt, he just preferred them and he saunter out of the house each morning to embarrass his kids. We laughed the other day as my middle son remembered the time he threw a snowball at his brother but it missed it’s mark. Instead it sailed through the door (left open by children) and landed in my husband’s lap while he was sitting at the kitchen table. My son said with a big smile, “he didn’t get mad at me Mommy. He thought it was really funny and that I had a really strong arm.” Yes, we laughed about it all over again. It feels good to remember him and be able to think of the happy times without bringing on a deluge of tears from me. It feels safe to take those memories out and remember how truly good and fun life was and to be happy that what we had was special.
The anniversary date of My Love’s death is July 10th. I don’t know exactly how we will mark that day other than we think we are going to have a breakfast picnic, and we are going to the daily Mass which is in the evening on Wednesdays, and will be celebrated in his memory. Other than that, we are going to see how things play out. It is really the last of the “firsts” that we need to get through and while I have been dreading this day for the emotions it will bring up, I am also looking forward to celebrating his life one more time. It’s getting easier, but…
~ The Reluctant Widow
