The unknowing


When I walked out of the complex with Bodie, all the branches on the trees were hanging just a little lower and preserved perfectly in an icy coating. It was beautiful. It was quiet outside too. No motorist dared to venture out on the slick roads. But the tranquility allowed my mind to wander and reflect. Today was not a good day.

I watched a home video George and I made and in it he called me beautiful several times and hearing it brought so many emotions. I couldn’t handle hearing his sweet compliments because I feel so ugly and fragmented. When he would call me beautiful I would respond, “you’re the only one who thinks so.” George would quickly shoot back, “that’s what makes you wonderful. You’re so beautiful and you don’t even know it. I’m lucky to have you.” Hearing it on video is nice but makes me hate that I won’t have that from him ever again.

When I walked to the gym tonight, my neighbor was standing at the elevator. I hadn’t seen him in awhile. Probably before I got married. We had a little small talk of hey how’s it going? Still running? That’s great. Then finally he asked the dreaded question, with enthusiasm nonetheless, “how’s married life going?” I felt the tears ready to pour down my face like a waterfall so I glanced away from him and told him. George died. He felt terrible but I said it’s not like I advertise his death so how would he have known? And I just walked away.

When I got to the gym I ran a mile for warm up and as I was stretching I started crying. So I moved into the spin room and got on a bike and started pedaling. George loved riding bikes and he enjoyed spin classes too. It was something we could share and we would often times go on long bike rides when the weather was nice. But as I was remembering our time together, side-by-side, riding through Prospect Park I just let it out. I was pedaling hard and the tears flowed freely. When I looked up at myself in the mirror, my cheeks were rosy but my eyes were hollow black sockets. I looked how I felt. Empty.image

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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2 Responses to The unknowing

  1. Krista says:

    I, too, know this horrible feeling. I lost my husband about a month after you lost yours. I’m glad I found your blog, it really is nice to have someone to relate to. We have a long road ahead of us.

    P.S. – I know you don’t know me at all, but if you ever want to talk please feel free to reach out to me.

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