I have spent a considerable amount of time trying to explain the reason for my growing frustration with life, but it is becoming seemingly impossible to express. My dilemma begins with the fact that I was once an optimist. I could find the good or possible positive outcome in even the direst of situations. Now, I see nothing either good and not even minimal possibility of ever enjoying life again. I accepted that outlook years ago; however, my frustration is in trying to explain that my outlook does not suggest that I am ungrateful for the blessings I do have. I recognize my blessings and I am grateful. People are so frustrating because they expect widows or widowers to be satisfied with what life offers, never recognizing that they had a partner in everything they did and are now flying solo.
Whenever a friend is trying to convince one that God thinks it best that you rejoice in the death of your spouse because that is part of his Grand Plan, how does one look that friend in the eye and respond. How does one explain that his or her spouse made life worth living, that he or she made you feel like you were the most important being on earth. How does one respond? I know that some people find love again because they let it go, but some remain attached to that one soul who made them whole.
During my journey of life, I traveled from having something to look forward to each day to having absolutely nothing in which to focus upon with true hope except death. It is only in death that I will see my love again. How does one explain that? Trust me; if you speak those words aloud, people with white coats come calling and waving costly tickets to Looneyville.
I surrender in my efforts of explanation. I should not have to explain anything. I miss my husband. I miss sharing every waking moment possible with him by my side. I miss working on our yard together. I miss working in our shop together. I miss watching movies together. I miss reading to him and sharing stories. I miss holding him and him holding me. I miss kissing him and him kissing me. I miss making love and sharing our devotion to each other. I miss feeling loved. I miss sex. Nothing I do during the rest of my life will come close to meeting any of those fulfillments. Nothing.
I have accepted my fate. I continue living. I set high goals and I meet them. I do not have to be the person I once was or smile to make others feel more comfortable. It is what it is. I live a life of solitude, even when people surround me. Does that mean that I do not believe in God—No! Does that mean that I am not grateful for my children—NO! Does my sadness imply that I do not appreciate my friends?—No! If you plan to save me from some apocalyptic hell to which you believe me to be destined—do not bother. I am going to the same place as you. All I have to do is trudge on until that time. I just close my eyes and I see him there—waiting for me.
The method in which I manage to teeter just on the edge without completely falling over is really quite simple. I try to focus on little things and set goals. For instance, I have an exam this week. That is my immediate goal—to pass the exam. My long-term goal is to obtain my Master’s degree. That is it. There will not be any celebratory parties for me, myths of grandeur, love (and I mean the sex kind of love by that), or anything…really, just a goal and I may have a chocolate bar to reward myself for hard work. There is nothing in which to look forward to for me. One can survive, even knowing that love is dead. It is dismal, it is lonely, but it is what it is.
There it is—my declaration of existence. I was fortunate to be born and find a man who thought I was the most beautiful and special girl in the world. I am fortunate to have two wonderful parents who always love me. I am fortunate that I have two beautiful children who teach me so much about life. I am fortunate that I have wonderful friends who make me smile even when I only want to cry. I have all that—and for that, I am grateful. However, I am missing the other half of my heart, of my soul, and the half that means I will never again be loved that way—while I exist in this life. I will never feel beautiful again. I will never feel loved again. I will never feel complete again. How anyone can find optimism in that knowledge is beyond me. I think they only find it when it is not happening to them. An explanation is unnecessary because it is MY declaration of existence, but I hope my declaration clarifies things.