Breaking Routines

Today marks two weeks since my husband passed away. On this day, I vowed to myself that I would accomplish two things I’ve been meaning to do: make soup and work out. Although these things seem so mundane and could be done quickly, to be honest most days I want to just sit around. I don’t want to do anything ever. I  make myself go out and do things to keep my mind active. The silence allows for a feral mind and leaves me in agony.

After I completed my daily tasks, I ended up going to work this evening. I really just went in to meet up with friends, and to watch the men’s basketball team play. During the men’s basketball game I picked my phone up and realized I was doing so to text George. My mind floated into autopilot and that was something I tended to do during my schools sporting events. When I caught myself I felt so overcome with embarrassment I didn’t know what to do. The gym was boisterous and crowded, and the student section was pretty rambunctious with chants and heckles, but I felt so alone. Just lost in a room of nonsense. I’ve never felt so lonely in a crowded place. After the game when I was heading back into my car, I did it again, I went to call George. It’s such a routine that if I was leaving school late, call George and let him know I’m finally on my way home. I loved talking to him on the phone when it was a late night because he always made the time go by quickly. He would tell me stories about Bodie, or what happened at work, and I would finally be on the ramp to our apartment. He just knew how to add flare to my mind numbing commute. When my finger hovered over his name in my phone, I quickly found my parents instead to talk to.

These have been the longest two weeks of my life. Time has slowed down tremendously and I wish I could fall asleep and wake up and all the pain and hurt has dissipated. I’m scared of what’s to come and I know that if George knew how sad I was he would be upset that he made me feel this way. The comfort he provided me is something I cherished, and I miss his voice so much. When I look at the New York City skyline, I can’t help but think about the lyrics “I’m three days from New York City and I’m three days from you.” The best part of NYC was George.


About J.

Fitness professional, fitness & nutrition writer, widowed at 28. Writing about getting through grief through self-care, physical activity, and the ​constant feeling of being uncomfortable.
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