Dealing with people these years since Rick died has taught me one major lesson – time after time, with a brutal force.
Rick shielded and protected me more than I ever realized.
He spoiled me, taking care of me.
I was a grown woman when he died.
Our kids were grown with families of their own.
BUT.
I was not ready for being alone.
Not in any sense of the word was I ready or in the least prepared.
I had no idea that people could, and would, be so snarky, rude, downright hateful.
I had no concept of selfishness in people.
I knew nothing about narcissism, or ghosting.
Not just in a dating world – but in family & friend relationships!
In these 10 years since Rick has been gone, I have had 3 dates.
Each one was a complete and total disaster!
Each one rudely opened my eyes to what was necessary that I see and know as a woman alone, but it hurt my heart and soul.
I still think about those dates.
The woman I was before them.
The woman I became because of them.
Silly I guess to some, but I miss the innocence of the woman I was before.
In these years since Rick has been gone, my circle of family & friends has grown.
Not wider, or deeper, nor stronger.
It has grown smaller.
So much smaller than I ever thought it could or would.
I scroll through the phone, or Facebook, and I see name upon name – and yet, the ones who reach out to me, or that I feel freedom and confidence to reach out to, the numbers are so small.
I know it would hurt some feelings, and make my numbers even smaller, if they knew these thoughts and feelings that poke my soul.
But I cannot escape the truth as I scroll.
Rick had said for years that I was “simple”.
That I loved easily, too easily.
That I trusted too quickly, too intensely.
That I believed in the good of people too much.
How many times he would take me in his arms, hold me close, kiss my forehead, and tell me – “Honey, I love you, and I am proud of you. But I am greatly afraid that you are going to get hurt more than I can fix one of these days.”
I remember I would look up into his eyes, see the love – and I would shake my head and say,
“People are basically good and kind. I know my heart and mind, and I know when to be careful.”
He would smile, hug me tighter, hold me closer.
Shield me.
Protect me.
Yes, I miss the innocence of a woman loved, cherished, shielded and protected.
I think about the people in and out of my life these 10 years since Rick died.
Knowing Rick as I did, I don’t have to wonder what he would say about them.
I don’t have to guess how he would feel.
And with some, I have no doubt what he would say or do!
But.
Rick is not here.
He doesn’t shield me, protect me.
He’s not here to gather me into his arms and love me, cherish me.
And I am no longer living in a Pollyanna world – yes, I am THAT old!
It’s up to me now to guard my heart, mind and soul, my life.
It’s up to me now to deal with sorrow and regret.
It’s up to me now to handle the loneliness that a smaller world brings with it.
I have made so many mistakes.
Taken so many missteps.
I cannot put a number to them all.
But the regrets, the sorrows, they pound against me – especially in the dark of night, in dreams, and as I sit here with coffee in the early morning hours.
I wish . . .
I wish I might have . . .
I wish I had not . . .
I wish I did . . .
I wish . . .
From conversations had, to money & energy spent.
From letting people go so easily, to holding on tighter than I should have.
From reaching out trying to repair relationships, to being so hurt that I basically curled up and let them die.
And now, life is what it is.
There are people in my life now who Rick never got to meet, nor do they know anything of him except what they have heard me talk and tell.
Some are only online framily.
Some are in real life and time.
I think all of them would have loved Rick – and he would have loved and enjoyed them so much!
The people who did know Rick, who share memories with me about him –
I think those are the ones I miss the most.
I wish I could hear their memories, listen as they speak his name.
Know how he made their lives different just by being.
Some of those people have died in these 10 years.
Some have just gone their own way, away from me.
I am much more careful now.
With my heart and mind, with my soul.
With my time, energy and money.
I guard it all more carefully – sometimes I think too carefully.
And yet, there are times when “careful” goes out the window – or I try mighty hard to push it out.
I sit with coffee often thinking, “Will I never, or ever learn?”
These days I refuse to tolerate rude behavior.
Someone gets rude with me – I am quicker to draw the lines.
And those lines are drawn deeper, hold stronger.
I will talk with anyone about anything – past, present, or future.
Good times, or bad.
Hurt feelings, or laughter.
Questions with, or without, answers.
Even, yes (as much as I don't want to) - politics, events in our world, religion.
But I will not argue, I will not fight.
I will not tolerate disrespect or rudeness.
I said early in being a widow that this was my grief, my journey as a widow.
And while knowing that others are dealing with their loss – whether in knowing and losing Rick, or in having their own person die – we were all individuals.
We all must process loss and grief in the way that we can learn to live with it – cause it’s not going anywhere!
I can’t tell someone else how to do this – but no one can tell me, either.
I do not always understand how others process their loss and grief – but it’s theirs, not mine.
I know for a fact that few, if any, understand how I do the same!
Looking back, I realize that those first months to first years after Rick died I was waiting for healing.
I was waiting for that morning when I would wake up and be done with grief, be done with being a widow.
That morning when my life would be ‘normal’ again.
For me, the healing did not even begin until that moment I stood in front of the mirror, looking hard at myself – not just physically, but deep into me.
And I knew in that moment – I was a widow.
For the rest of my life.
No matter where I go, no matter what I do, no matter who I may be with – I am Rick’s widow.
Nothing, no one, no place – job, home, church, community – is ever going to change the one fact of my life . . .
I am a widow.
Even in some far away fantasy world where there is a 2nd chapter of love for me –
even in that, I would still be Rick’s widow.
I remember standing in front of that mirror – watching the tears, seeing myself ugly cry –
and feeling deep inside the surrender, the acceptance, the realization.
It’s not what I want to be.
I want to be Rick’s WIFE.
But he’s gone, he’s not coming back.
That chapter of my life is done.
Over.
A memory only.
It’s what I am though.
And since that moment in front of the mirror, I have asked questions of myself, with every breath I take, with every move I make –
How can I be the best widow to and for Rick?
How can I honor Rick’s memory, his legacy?
How can I take the life we lived, the laughter we shared, the love we made, and live it now – alone, without him here?
Time after time, I stumble, I fall.
And time after time, I get back up.
The tears still come – and at times, just as hot, sticky and heavy, as they did that first moment he died.
More than not though, the tears are burning blisters on my heart – they don’t fall as much these days.
Always there – just deep inside.
I miss him so much.
So stinking much!
He was my dream, my hope, my prayer – from the time I was 10 years old.
He was all I ever wanted.
And for 34 years, 7 months, 17 days and 11 hours, I had that.
Plus the first 6 months that we dated 😉
I know not everyone gets to have their fairytale.
I am humbled, and honored, to know that I did.
BUT – and this is the most important BUT of all – you don’t get over losing that fairytale.
EVER.
It’s not that you wallow in the loss and grief.
It’s not that you are stuck in the memories of that life.
It’s not that you don’t move forward with life now.
But, when it is over and gone -
You.
do.
not.
get.
over.
it.
It has this way of staying with you.
Just out of reach.
Like a heavy mist or fog keeping you from seeing it clearly anymore.
Oh Rick.
Did you know?
Do you know now?
Just how fine you were to me?
Just how fine you still are?
How much I loved you then, how much I love you still?
How through all the mistakes and missteps, you were, you are, still my dream, my hope, my anchor in the storms?
Did you know?
Do you know now?
Well, another morning begins to wake up, daylight comes softly and slowly.
It’s time to dry these tears from my face and go forth into whatever this day shall be.
Trying my best and hardest to be a better widow today than I may have been yesterday.
I love you, Rick.
Always and forever.
To infinity and beyond. 😉
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