Yesterday brought along a whirlwind of sadness, I guess from the combination of emotions. The quiet in New York, with so many people, yet missing the one that mattered most, along with the accumulation of pent-up feelings–ones I bottled in so to not spill out while on our adventure, came pouring out the minute I found my way home again.
Another day wasted by grief’s crashing wave.
I am tired of grieving.
Today I want to begin 30 days of finding a new me. Or maybe wholeness. Could be because I am attempting Whole 30 eating plan to get back on track before my waistline decides to graduate to another size. A post for another day…
Wholeness, like filling the gaping wound with a skin graft so it can heal.
A question appeared in a post from, ‘Second Firsts’, in which the writer asked a series of questions, one being:
Are you still trying to live the life you used to have?
I sat here for minutes as I pictured the days go by, one after the next, and at first glance, thought, “no, not really.”
After all, I stopped watching our shows at night, even though the red light lets me know it is still being recorded and I am wasting valuable storage space. But I just don’t care enough to stop.
Routines are similar though.
Coffee. Shower. Working out. Actually that should be working out, and then shower.
The TV is off in the morning, yet I sit in the same spot at the kitchen table.
In the evening, this seat transitioned to Bill’s bottom, but I decided to keep it as my own. Not sure why, other than it has a better view of the perimeter of the house, and into the yard.
I meander through the day as I did when he was well, filling time with errands, coffee dates, writing.
Home maintenance. The outdoor chores are now provided by a company I pay entirely too much for, to maintain a yard that used to look meticulous.
Small weeds creep up everywhere, ones that he would Round Up, whereas I pulled by the root. I watch them accumulate. Too tired to touch. Too sad to care.
I feel debris on my feet as I walk around barefoot. No, not from the outside, but on the kitchen floor. There was a time you could eat off the tile as it was that clean.
I grocery shop instead of him. Make dinner. Clean up dishes.
Watch random reality shows, likely to escape reality.
Until I go to bed.
No, I am not living the same life.
Actually it appears I am not living any life.
Just existing on a routine.
Like choosing the merry-go-round, instead of the roller coaster. The horses don’t move. They are stuck in place–circling as they do until the time is up.
No hills. No adrenaline. No adventure.
Before Bill was diagnosed, I woke from a dream of me on a roller coaster, arms raised, smile wide, with words ringing in my ears like a background soundtrack,
Let the adventure begin!
It startled me as dreams often do, causing the heart to pump a bit faster.
I smile at her smile.
“Josie, put some adventure into today.”
Adventure (verb): Engage in hazardous or exciting activity, especially the exploration of unknown territory.
So I say yes to be a judge for a throw-down, coffee competition. It is a start.
Oh, and I did get a tattoo. On my arm. In plain sight. It was a drawing from the last letter he wrote me before he died.
I may never work at a church again.
Let the adventure begin.