Pensive Thoughts on a Bright Spring Day

It is a beautiful day, absolutely gorgeous outside. I should be out there. I was out there earlier. I walked to the library and checked out a whole batch of new books after returning the others. The sun is warm and getting warmer. My plants on my porch are doing great, both the older ones and the new seeds I planted that have new shoots coming through the dirt. And I am thinking of my husband. It's normal. He's only been gone for, well, it will be officially two months on that Sunday midnight/Monday morning cusp. And it's all so hard to face. As each day goes by, the last time I saw him, spoke to him, held him and was held by him gets further and furhter away. I'm so very sad over his dying. All our dreams are gone. A huge part of me died with him.

It's odd to see my haggard face in the mirror in the middle of the nights when I can't sleep and I go to wash my face. He will always be in my mind as he was on our last day together. So handsome. So funny. Warm and kind. Loving. He loved me. I guess he still does but I'm wallowing today. I think that's all right to do as long as you keep a leash on it. Wallowing lets off some of the pressure that feels trapped in my heart and in my head.

I tell myself at my worst moments that I want him back. I want him back so much. He deserved to live a longer life. He is a Marine and had done so much. He deserved to live into a quiet old age, play with grandchildren, tease me, and sleep in the sun. He deserved his house by the ocean. We had a little house picked out. It looked over our cove, over the island with the lighthouse, and far out across the Atlantic. The house was small and about 90 years old. The master bedroom upstairs had such a view. And now it's gone with him. Someone put an offer on it the day he died and closed a month ago. Someone else is living our dream. If I think on it too long, my heart actually hurts.

But houses and dreams aside, I lost my love that day. I wonder if God knew what He was doing. Then I get worried that God is mad for me wondering. "He was called home." If I hear that one more time. The apartment manager said that to me this morning when I stopped by to ask her to have someone come spray for a beehive under the shingles of the roof over my balcony. "You can rest easy knowing your husband was called home." I have faith. But there are dark moments when I want to shout, "His home was with me! We were happy! We had found each other and had something so wonderful. Why did you take him away!?" Black mintues from a dark mood during a bright spring day.

There is a man in the widows group I go to. There are men in the "widow's group" scattered around the different times the different groups meet for the convenience of the widows. The men don't really have their own group because not enough men will actively go and the support is the same. What can be asked of a woman can be asked of a man. Grief isn't gender specific. This man in the group I go to has been alone now for almost a year. He is still very, very sad. His moods are somber to the point of being hopeless. He says he puts "one foot in front of the other until I fall into bed." I felt empathy for him while he was speaking. He talked of the coming spring season and how his wife loved planting flowers. Then he turned to me and said, "At least I got to say good bye. My wife took eight months to die of cancer. Your husband just up and died."

I know he didn't mean it cruelly but it made me feel so cold. It was a bit of a slap. No, I didn't get to say good bye. I kissed him good night and he put his arm around me and we went to sleep. He went to sleep. I was still awake. It was only seven minutes later that I realized he was dying, or dead. And he, too, liked spring and its warmth.

There is no link or pictures for this hub. It is just a stream of consciousness that I am putting out there for anyone who has had the same thoughts and feelings. You are not alone in your sorrow. You are not alone in your grief. It just feels like it when you actually are alone.

Spring is here though, and so am I. I think I will go walk the dogs and let the sun try to warm my heart and bring light to my thoughts.