Love, Mom

It’s the little things that chip away at my heart, the repetitious hammering of reminders. Things which were once automatic now have to be deliberate.  Something as simple as signing a birthday card has become an emotional reminder of all that has changed, all that will never be the same.  

I’ve been half of a couple for two thirds of my life; I’ve been ‘Elva and…’,  or Mom and…’,  or Gramma and….’. for more than forty years. The ‘and’ supported me, accompanied me and helped define who I was – I haven’t been just me in so long it causes me pause every time I sign a card these days.  I’m guessing the recipients of the cards are finding it strange as well, the empty space is glaring.

A couple of times I’ve had to add the dogs to my greeting, the ‘and’ appeared before the penny dropped. I suppose being lovingly linked to Olive and Chester is preferable to being alone, but humanizing my pets to fill the void left by my husband feels rather pathetic. In time I will have to think of something else.

I’m told I will get used to this, and the hundreds of other unexpected and unwelcome changes in my life, but right now I’m not certain I want to. I don’t want the old me to disappear, I was part of an ‘and’ – I don’t want to forget how that felt, even if it hurts to remember.