Saturday, September 24, 2011

I have been to a couple widow/widower websites in the past few weeks. First, let me point out that I have issues with the term "widow," as it brings to mind some wizened, old, dried up crone or someone like Granny on The Beverly Hillbillies. Or, perhaps, someone like Grandma Mazur in the Stephanie Plum novels.

Now that I think about it, it is rather depressing to be closer to Grandma Mazur than the young bounty hunter, Stephanie Plum.

Anyway, when I go to these boards, I feel deeply sad. Not for me, but for some of the people who post on there. I read posts which say, "It has been one year, three months, six days, five hours, twenty-two minutes and four seconds since he left me." Imagine wanting to know that, let alone having the time to figure out where to get that information. I also read posts by people who report that it has been nearly a year, and they just want to curl up in a ball and stay in bed all day.

My sister pointed out to me that we were fortunate that we were at the age where our bladders didn't allow us to sleep in too late each day, and once we were vertical, the dogs would ask to have their bladders attended to, and by then, we were moving anyway, so why not just get on with it and get the kids up and off to school and go to work.

I have more non-crying days than crying days lately. I have turned that corner. I miss him, his touch, the companionship, his conversation, his support. I am sad sometimes at what we will miss. However, the pain is not so searing as it was, even a week ago, and I know I can go on. In fact, the one thing I can do is keep on going, and I know now I can handle whatever happens. I may not want to handle it, but I can.

So I will.

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