Ready or not

For the last few weeks I had been anticipating my trip to California and how my feelings would be on the other side of the country. It really consumed most of my thoughts and imagination when I played out situational scenarios or dialogue. I failed to look past it and what would happen when my derailed life kept on chugging along. Welp, it came head on today because one of my high school friends was getting married. I didn’t stop to think, gee how will you feel going to a wedding? What are some emotions that might arise from this? What could possibly go wrong?

Luckily today’s wedding was a catholic one and the ceremony was long and overwrought. I’ve never been to a catholic wedding and I hope I don’t get invited to anymore. So many hymns and prayers in between. Just not my cup of tea. The length and awkwardness of not knowing any catholic prayers took the edge off. However, when it was time for the reception, to a surprising turn of events I was placed at the spill over singles table. This is something I never anticipated nor would have imagined to play out.

I’m not even sure what to say. I managed because I did have a handful of friends at the table, but it wasn’t enjoyable. During the first dance and family toasts, I gazed around the room and there was so many glossy eyes and soft sniffles. And at that point I realized I’m a goddamn robot. I can’t feel normal emotions. I cannot connect with what is going on around me and nor process it. Instead I sit there like a sociopath thinking what’s the big deal? I’m sure it’s not the first marriage witnessed. I am callous and cannot celebrate in other peoples joy because my misery has become host to all other feelings. During the wedding I did force myself to dance which was short lived. Shaking my hips, throwing my arms around, rotating my head, it all had no feeling. So instead I sat down and watched. I watched thinking what would I be doing if George was my date. Would we be sitting and talking about the terrible techno rendition of Don’t Stop Believing or would we be taking pictures of ourselves enjoying the colorful lights as the music thumped along? As suspected when I begin to think about the if-George-was-here my grief avalanched in the of my stomach. I scurried to the bathroom to hide. Can’t be upset on my friends happiest day of his life. But ready or not, life must push along whether you’re on board or not.

I miss George more than anything. Moving on without him is indescribable. I just want to call him and tell him about my days and what I’ve learned rather than logging it before I go to bed. Someone commented in one of my previous posts that even though he’s not here, he can see and read what I’m doing/saying. I try to make him proud. I told him before he died that I’d be okay And he doesn’t have to worry. But I can’t help but think that if he’s watching me all he can see is a person breaking as easily as a porcelain doll.


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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