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There are days you sit in a chair and stare out the window at the same time you consider that living seems to take too a lot energy. Even to assume about what to make for dinner is an all-consuming project. It could also be daunting, feeling as if there is nothing in this world that will ever hold your interest again. The mail order catalog with the Valentines Day gifts is a reminder there wont be any lovers keepsakes. No hiding in the cabinet the ones chocolate and peanut butter eggs my husband, gone two years, used to enjoy. How small and silly a thought, nevertheless how massive a rip in my heart.
I had always been versatile and open to new tips, nevertheless following my husbands death, life became a narrow concentrate of work and toddlers. The joy had flown from most of my days and I anxious if this consuming disinterest in the world would be permanent.
I hated being an empty vessel, and as I started dating, I expected that special someone to return along, fill me up, and make me happy. At that point, I mistakenly thought, things would return to commonplace. Id be my old self. Little did I know at first of my grief journey, my old self was forever gone. However, I wanted verification that I mattered to someone by some means. I wanted affection and being involved, craving what I no longer had. My heart remained ever hopeful that I would find a happy ending, nevertheless triggered by the some bad choices, I kept throwing myself at the rocks of dating disappointment.
I am no longer the girl I was, nevertheless then having gone because of this journey, how could I expect, or need, to return to who I had been? Indeed, at the same time you consider that the years folded one into another, I had no should rehash the beyond. It was behind me as it should be, neither forgotten nor dwelled upon.
With the loss of someone integral to mine and my childrens lives, my sense of normalcy had transformed. Sometimes I wallowed in uncertainty about my life, and the tears would leak out of my eyes to run down my cheeks. I kept the ones emotions hidden as a rule. I couldnt bear to have others see me so weak; it seemed too individual to share. On rare occasions, I allowed myself to express my pain and anxiety. I wish now that I shared my grief more in many instances.
Time could move excruciatingly slow, and yet other days I couldnt account for the hours Id lived because of. On the darkish days, I lamented that no one cared anymore about my worries, dreams or needs.
One day I woke up and realized my life had by no means been a shipwreck and now was now not the time to delivery. I was ever mindful that I was an example to my toddlers, so I gathered my strength and took handle of my fate. Knowing the future was all in my hands was frightening and yet liberating. Becoming myself once more wasnt an effortless process, nevertheless a slow, methodical movement forward.
