When I peered out my window this afternoon, everything was peacefully frozen in a blanket of white. It felt like time had stopped with it. When I looked at the footprints in the snow, a haunting image crossed my vision; I saw my husband’s lifeless body covered in a woven white blanket.
I can picture what he looked like when he died flawlessly. I still can feel his warmth, and how still and cold his hands were after an hour passed. It’s a photograph in my memory I want to hold over a flame and watch it incinerate, but instead it’s branded into my frontal lobe. I want to take the heel of my hand and bang it against my brow line and shake the memory out. But what good would that do? It’s there to haunt me while I’m awake.
With these strange feelings and recalls of that horrid day, I finally decided to look into young widow message boards. I did this once prior. I started going through the forums to see if other people had similar experiences to mine, and some kind of did. But one thing that stuck out to me was someone who was talking about the differences in grief. Grief is unique and beyond the realm of normalcy. Everyone has different personalities, therefore everyone’s grief is individual and different. I have been getting compliments on “how well I’m doing,” but sometimes I feel like those around me are walking on egg shells because at any moment they think I will have a catastrophic meltdown. Which admittedly did happen a few times in California. But little do they know, that I’m walking in a field of mines and that’s EXACTLY what I’m terrified of. I feel guilty on days I don’t think I cry enough and I’m idly waiting for the next shoe to drop. It’s horrible and scary and I just have to go with it. There’s no other choice.
One silver lining that I read from someone on the message board was about what they read in a grief book. They paraphrased it and said grief could be less painful for those who had a good relationship with a spouse who was generally happy. George and I had a GREAT relationship. We were made for each other. I know that’s a cliche, but we knew it, and others could see it. George was such a happy and welcoming person. I’ve said this once before, I know George would want me to be happy and I want to be, but the way that he was towards the end is what keeps me up at night, and also prevents me from a night of sound sleep. But if I had to redo everything with taking care of him in our living room, I’d do it all over again if I could have one more day with him. I miss him so much.