Eight Months of Widow Time

At eight months without David -

I watch couples holding hands with anticipation on their faces while they wait for whatever is next.
I smile for them. I love that expression. I enjoy beginnings. I adore Spring.

My body keeps holding itself tight, keeping everything in place and perhaps protected. I ache all the time and occasionally wonder if I will truly relax again.

I am often asked if I am over it yet. That is such a crap question. Are you over being ten years of age? Are you over the first time you drove a car? Are you over the first time you got really drunk and woke up next to a stranger? All of these things make a life. The good the bad and the ugly is a true story. It all makes you who you are.

I know I am growing. I know the moments I enjoy more than the times that suffocate. There are things I am holding onto and so much that I am releasing. My awareness of when fear gets in my way, needs to change to action. Its OK knowing this stuff, its what you do with it that counts.

Every day I say goodbye and cannot pretend that it gets easier. I am incredibly fortunate to be a hard worker in anything I do, including grieving! So I have drunk wine, painted a dresser, bought a coat, smiled when I wanted to punch, laughed, felt longing, felt bold, felt small.

I love the word adventure and use it a lot these days, perhaps a little quieter than ten years ago, and that's OK. Daffodils do not make noise either.


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