No Regrets, My Love

Since the discovery of my husband’s death and the rituals and technicalities that followed, I am truly lost. I feel as if I am a stranger in a foreign country unfamiliar with the language and culture. My reason for living no longer exists. Life seems meaningless without Will and I am without purpose as I muddle along now. I question my strength to do this. I sit and cry drifting in sorrow never getting to know what could’ve been. A thought hits me, making me realize that I don’t get to write the ending to my life’s script, nor do I get to choose if or when to become a widow. At times I think about how my husband would feel if he were the one left behind without me. I think God chose the right ending by taking Will first. I am not certain he could’ve endured this painful journey without reverting back to drinking, or making an attempt to end his life and join me. I have contemplated both, in order to ease or end my suffering. I feel better somehow thinking about the order in which things occurred in this situation are for the best. I hate being the one still here, but I truly wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. The ashes Will requested to be released along the trails of our land were set free on his birthday in November, my “first” holiday since his death. As I walked the entire loop of our property I talked to Will and sprinkled some with each step I took. I reminisced in the memory of all the walks we took together there. I also drove our antique tractor, his favorite toy, around our pasture and let the rest of them symbolically fly freely from my hand as I held it open up toward the sky. I was letting him go. Afterward, I made a German chocolate cake in his honor and wished him a happy birthday, and then ate cake without him. I don’t know what compelled me to perform such painful rituals. Somehow they made me feel closer to the man I loved for so many years and still do with all my heart. Some days my heart feels deep, stabbing pain with the memories that sometimes come without much thought. It feels as if it has been surgically mangled and left to heal without any suture or closure of my chest. Initially, I felt robbed and wished I had never met Will, nor married him. If I hadn’t I wouldn’t have known the pain of today. He was stolen from me by the same Universe I believed put us together in the first place. Time has changed that. I have many moments of sadness, but they make me feel happy. I now realize that I am fortunate to have had the time I actually got with my husband. I still struggle with questions wondering why I am being punished by the same God I loved and trusted. I thought I lived my life in accordance to His commandments. It seems so unfair. I know God didn’t do this, but that it is part of my soul’s journey for learning and growth. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but it somehow eases my anger toward God. I have miraculously survived the first year of grieving. I have had some good cheering in my corner. I have put into practice realizing my strengths and trying to be proud of my accomplishments. I know Will would be for sure. As I head into year two I still have to drink from the cup of courage. I have to constantly be aware of my ability to beat up on myself and stop the brutality. My therapist is helping me with that. Even though I knew I couldn’t just put my grief into a pretty little box and put it up on a shelf to be forgotten, I somehow wanted to. There are so many triggers and the pain hits and my tears still flow. I wonder if I will ever stop being so sad and broken hearted. My husband and I were bonded like an alloy of molten metals cast together making one. I could never imagine life without him, but here I am. How could something so fantastic be cut short? I will never know.