Dedicated in Loving Memory to my Beloved Husband

It has been nine months since you died. Nine months- the gestation period for a human child, a new person. As with any normal birth, this new person is one created from our love for one another. Unlike a normal birth, however, the person being created is me; the me who is alone without you sitting on my left side at church, in movies, concerts or plays whom I leaned against while feeling the warmth of your life radiating through your clothing. This me is a person who has no one to hold hands with across a table- any table – any meal – any place. This me is a person who has to make big decisions regarding money, home improvements, investments, children’s issues without your wise input and calming voice. This me no longer hears, except in my own head, your voice saying “Love you baby,” or “I’m missing you baby,” or “Let’s eat something GOOD” with the word “good” drawn out into one long syllable. Who have I given birth to? When I look in the mirror, I hardly recognize the thin, sad-eyed woman looking back at me. Who am I?

I am a woman who has learned that indescribable, unimaginable pain won’t kill me, though I pray for death every day and lay in bed some nights contemplating ways in which to commit suicide. Yet, in the next breath, after the last sob, I can plan for a future event.

I am a woman who has learned that ripping my heart out causes me to bleed tears, more tears than I thought it was possible to shed.
I am a woman who has found that there are many kind people in the world who want to help and that I only need to let them. I have found it is okay to depend on the kindness of strangers even if it is a woman who sees me crying in the supermarket and stops to talk for a few minutes and I never see her again.

I am a woman who has found that there are cold, selfish and toxic people in the world who don’t think twice about abrading my raw and fragile soul. I have learned that I no longer have the energy to give them the benefit of the doubt and can write them off, unfriend them and walk away.

I am a woman who can carry on the business of life with a broken heart, in my bathrobe with unwashed hair and tears running down my face. The bills must get paid, calls must be made and the laundry must be done.

I am a woman with more empathy and love for others than I ever thought possible. I can get up from the floor where I have been hugging the urn with your ashes and crying uncontrollably, put on my uniform and go to the hospital Emergency Room where I volunteer weekly. I am only happy when I am helping people in need and realize that my heart has been broken open, not broken apart and there is more room in a broken heart. I can dry my eyes, blow my nose and hold the hand of a lonely, 89 year old man who is terrified of having an IV inserted and who later said he would never forget my care and kindness toward him. I can sit at the bedside of a lonely woman with a severe migraine and keep her company until the medication takes effect. This is who I am now and this is what I do.

I called you the soul of our marriage and I was the accountant/organizer/CFO but I absorbed your soulfulness over the years OR I found my own soul under the spreadsheets and exhibit tabs of my life.

Loving you made me a better person and losing you has made me better still. I have taken all of the love that you gave to me and I gave to you and am spreading it liberally where it is needed.

I fret less about the small stuff because the worst that can happen has happened – I lost you; I also no longer fear death as I once did and will embrace it when it comes because I will be with you again.

I found that it is still possible to grow as a person while I’m screaming my pain into a pillow so as not to disturb the neighbors or tenants.

I have learned that ritual matters – touching the Holy is important – belief in the invisible is vital.

Most importantly, the new me has found that I matter because you loved me and you didn’t love lightly. I was always “too much” for my family of origin but never so for you. I am learning to love my excessive, passionate nature while longing for a hug, a pat on the back from you or seeing the joy in your eyes as you watch my spirit grow or hearing you say “Good job Fluffy” as the new baby begins to toddle through life alone.