My husband died.
I am now half of a whole. Mike and I
complemented each other, completed each other. Now I’m incomplete.
I seek wholeness again. But how do I do that? I can’t be both
introvert and extrovert. I can’t be both the quiet type and the
gregarious, jovial, social type. I can’t be both Mom and Dad. I’m
finding that out. I can’t be Mike.
It was “we”. Now it’s “I”.
It was “ours”. Now it’s "mine".
We were a couple. Now I’m an individual.
We were together. Now I’m alone.
When I fell down, he picked me up.
When I was sad, he made me laugh.
Mike was my protector and defender. Now I’m
vulnerable.
He saw the best in me. I’m everything I am today because
he loved me. I’ve come so far.
Mike knew me like no other. There will not be another who
can know me like Mike did.
With Mike my life had meaning. Now I question it, yet seek
it.
Mike was my mirror. It reflected who I was with him.
It affirmed me as a lovable, valuable, worthy person. Now I look at the
mirror on the wall. I see sadness. I want to be who I was when I
was with him. I don’t want a new me. I don’t want a new
identity. But change has been forced upon me. Life is different,
and I know I will change because of it.
There’s a void in our family which has put things out of
balance. His role is unfulfilled – the father, the husband, the
counselor, the rock. I can’t meet expectations. They can’t meet
mine.
Life goes on, and with it new stressors and disappointments that
heighten his loss and deepen my grief. Mike would have been there with
his optimism, encouragement, hope, and comfort. Now I must cope without
him. But thank God for friends and kinship with others who have also lost
a spouse and understand my pain.
But there are little rays of sunlight that peek through the dark
clouds. A newborn. Grandchildren. They bring me moments
of joy. Their giggling. Their unbridled enthusiasm. Their
wonderment in the little things of life. Their affection and hugs –
something I don’t get daily anymore.
And another thing that brings me momentary joy – sharing my
music with others. Mastering a difficult piece of music.
Creativity. It’s part of me. It’s part of who I am.
But it’s not all of who I am, and I wonder how I’ll ever
be whole again and what that wholeness looks like, because it will be
a different kind of wholeness, not what it was.
written February 10, 2014
