It’s been almost a year since we lost Mike. My body has been reminding me of this for a few weeks, even though I have tried not to consciously commemorate his death date, my brain keeps reminding me that it is coming.
In some ways I am amazed it has been a year, and in some ways it seems like ten years. I think of him every day, and I wish he were here, but I don’t cry every day anymore.
Since he has been gone I have burnt up our grass. I turned the sprinkler system off, forgot about it, and a month later I looked out the window at my dead grass. It happens, widow brain is real.
I have resurrected my dead business, found my groove again with it, and added another aspect to it in the last year since he’s been gone.
I have made myself so grief sick earlier this spring, that I threw up so violently that I wet my pants. This upset me so much, and reminded me of when Mike couldn’t eat, and the hopeless feeling that I felt that I got even sicker. Eventually I ended up just laying in the bathroom floor with a towel between my legs, and my head in the toilet for a day. I got better.
I have reunited with old friends, and spent quality time with my people. It means even more now.
I have had a crush on a cute guy. Honestly, it came as a shock that I could like someone again. However a broken crayon still colors, and it was a nice reminder that when I’m ready I will love again. I don’t understand dating, and heartbreak has made it even harder. The idea of going through this kind of loss again scares me so much that I can’t even imagine opening up my heart again.
I have scattered ashes, consulted a medium, and cried myself to sleep a hundred times.
I’ve been angry at God, Mike, the doctors, cancer, my friends, the bank teller, but mostly at myself.
I have turned 50.
I’ve read more books about grief than anyone needs to read, and become more secure in my faith.
I have slept. After 2 years of not sleeping more than a couple of hours at a time, I am sleeping. My doctor put me on some medication to help with the perimenopause which has had its own challenges. I have never taken any medicine, so now I have to remember to take it.
I accidently put the medication into my purse without the lid secured, and later discovered the pills poured out into the bottom of my purse. I saw them hours later and thought they were mini altoids, and put them in my altoid tin. Thankfully I realized it before I offered progesterone to someone just seeking fresh breath.
I have survived.