The Next 64 Years

And September was rough.

I honestly have no idea.  It was my FIFTH birthday without him.  The fifth.  Isn't this supposed to be getting easier?  Or more "normal"?  Or something???

But one thing I'm learning is that it really doesn't get easier, and  you don't go back to your old life.

In the past year, I've made some huge strides towards getting "my" life back - that is a life that does not revolve around him, the fact that he died, trying to keep his memory alive, or trying to achieve the life we wanted together.

And the automatic inclination is to go back to when you were happiest, do what you did then.... but then it just reminds you that he's dead.  And that's sooo not fair.

So I'm working on myself.  I'm working on pulling together a life - an identity - for myself that is ME, and THIS me.  Not the girl who grew up in a fishbowl, who struck out on a career no one thought was plausible, and threw it all over to take care of one man.  This girl knows a job isn't important as long as it pays the bills, blends easily into a big city, enjoys doing things by herself, and has survived a great loss.  This girl takes care of herself, does what is right for herself, and doesn't give critics free space in her head.

Put that way, I kind of feel like a badass.

Which I supposed I am.  Which is what makes it hard when the grief comes out of nowhere - I forget that that's okay.  I forget it's to be expected that sometimes I just need a moment by myself, to process, to grieve.  I try to push myself into this new life, and forget that grief is as much a part of my life now as he was when he was alive.

Maybe it's just acknowledgement.  Maybe it's just saying, "this is a part of my life" that allows it to be, rather than control.  Maybe it's just not forcing anything and learning when to say, "Sorry, that hurts more than I want to, so I'm going to skip it." 


I turned 35 a few weeks back.  For some reason, I was having a problem with 35.  36, I'm ready for, but 35 was giving me a mental block.

Then I hit on something.  If I live to be 100 (which I've been saying for years, then started kicking myself for it once he died and I realized how long I had to live without him), I only have 65 more years to go.  Actually 64 and 3 weeks, now.  That made it easier, knowing that this isn't going to last forever, that someday I will die, that I will see him again.  And the next 64 years doesn't have to look anything like the first 35 - CAN'T look anything like the first 30.  And it's up to me to say what the next 64 years looks like.

If I want to avoid that which hurts me, it's my right.  If I want to take off on my own for weeks at a time, that's my choice.  If I want to choose who gets into my life, it's my decision.

Crazy thought that finally made it easier, but it does.

And, it's making me enjoy this fall more - I only have 64 more to enjoy!