Wrestling with Reality

I am still dealing with moments of mind numbing reality, moments where the hairs on my arms stand up, my stomach muscles tighten and I grow weak in the knees.  Moments when I can’t believe what I’m trying to believe – this thing happened, the love of my life died and with him all the tomorrows we used to talk about, dream about and take for granted. 

I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time believing this, why I can’t seem to wrap my head around facts I know to be true. I was there. I watched him pass. I held his hand while all the life and love that was him left.  It just doesn’t seem real, doesn’t seem possible and yet it is – as impossible as it is, it is real.

I feel like reality is hovering above me like a spaceship – it beams down facts and messes me up for a bit and then retreats. I walk around in a daze for a while, weak in the knees and sick to my stomach, and then the feeling passes.  I settle into another day of getting along without him until the next beam hits. I truly fear the day the spaceship lands, the day reality settles like a tombstone on my heart.

I’m used to being alone in this house, he worked out of town for a good portion of our marriage. I’m not afraid to turn out the lights and head to bed.  If I’m honest it used to be a bit of an adjustment when he’d be home for a while, I’d have to think about dinners and gear the day around meals and extra laundry. I would have to relinquish the TV remote. But I loved the hugs when he walked in the door, the random kisses, the hand to hold.  I loved his company in the evenings and his sense of humor and adventure. I loved living with him, and even when he was away I was still part of a couple – there was confidence in that. 

I think a large piece of my confidence died with him and I might be mourning that as well.  He made me brave. I never thought twice about packing my lawn chair and bottle of wine down the street to the block party even when he was out of town.  I probably spent a third of our marriage at home without him, I learned to do a lot of things by myself but I wasn’t single. I haven’t been single in over forty years and I’m not even sure I am now. I’m a widow.  I’m alone.  I sit at a table for one – but I sure as hell don’t consider myself single. 

I’m sitting in a quiet house this morning trying to define my new status to myself.  It’s tricky. I am wrestling with reality  – it is being persistent and I am resisting. Reality says I am alone, my heart says I’m not.  Reality says I am single, my heart says I AM NOT! Reality says ‘until death us do part’.  Reality says he is dead. And the hairs on my arms stand up, my stomach muscles tighten and I grow weak in the knees.  I’ve been hit with a beam again.