I’m sorry but I have to say in advance, this is not a good post, there is no inspiration here.
June passed 28 months ago. I thought it would start to get easier, not better, just being able to cope a bit more. It’s not.
The last couple of weeks have been the worst – I had to talk to the Samaritans at 2am Monday morning. They do mean well, I actually felt sorry for the guy I spoke to. He couldn’t help, just kept saying how good it was that I called. I’m ashamed to say I hung up on him. They are good people trying to help complete strangers – I hope he’s ok.
So, I’ve been taking stock. I have a few very close friends – 50 years plus they’ve known me so they should know me quiet well by now. In the last few months more than one has said “good to see that you’re getting on with life”, “you need to enjoy what time you still have”, “you might meet someone”. I’m not getting on, I’m not enjoying my time, and I have already met that someone and now she’s gone.
I tell myself that they mean well, that they’d been upset if they knew how I felt about their comments, I know that they don’t understand where I am. But they’ve hurt me.
I’ve decided that none of that matters. They may mean well but they are upsetting me, and because of society’s norms I can’t say anything.
So, I am not “moving on” – I don’t want to. “It’s not what she would have wanted” – how do they know? I’m not “enjoying what I have” – I’m hurting for what I had and is gone.
I go to a meeting every week of people who have lost their husbands and wives, and I feel more connected with them than people I’ve known since primary school, how weird is that.
I don’t want to be in this club, when I said “till death us do part”, I always thought it would be my death.
Sorry it’s so long and rather down,
Take care D