There is that day, when you are alone with yourself.
You have to face the reality of what your life has become.
As they say, you can run, but you can’t hide.
History repeats itself.
Or so they say.
Yes, my first husband died at the age of 41.
And I did everything I could to avoid feeling that loss.
I refused to acknowledge the pain, and ended up in rehab with years of therapy.
I am running with the wind.
Always on the go.
I decided it was time to deal with it.
I fixed dinner for one.
Took a nap with the cats.
And tried to rationalize why sometimes death is the better option when the body and mind shut down and life becomes a struggle, a burden, and a painful existence.
As I folded clothes, and got myself ready for work today, I took a look around, and realized that I had done very little since Jim died.
I am a classic example of avoiding pain.
I choose flight to overcome fright.
It’s so dark in November and December.
These are the 2 months I dislike the most.
I feel like I get up in the dark, and go home in the dark.
I long for the light of the frigid cold of January and February, where I can at least see the sun shining on the snow banks.
I guess in our darkest hours, we learn that the mystery of life can never fully be explained.
We have our joys, our disappointments, our dreams and our nightmares.
Some are fortunate enough to find a partner for life.
However, life is relative.
When it is over, it is over.
I don’t know.
I guess we can continue to grieve, to wish, to reflect, to give up, to wonder why it ended long before we were ready.
I am torn.
I am sad.
But I am grateful for the years we had together.
And I am thankful we stayed together throughout the good and the bad years, so that in the end, we were still together, as life, as we knew it, gently faded, until it no longer existed.
Ok, so tonight?
The Oh Wow cat is out…. again.
I am in my pjs.
Monday night football is on.
And I popped a Coors light.
Life goes on.