Happy has taken on a whole new meaning since Gene died. Am I happy? In general? This minute? Today? This week? This month? Compared to what? Before Gene started to feel bad? When Gene was miserable with cancer and pain? A few days after Gene died? A month after?
It's all relative. I am happier than I was when Gene was really ill. I am happier than those first few months after Gene died. But am I happy? I have a good life but I don't know if I'm happy. How can I be happy, really happy without Gene? He filled my world with light, love, laughter, romance, affection, safety, security, joy.
I realized the other day that my life is pretty happy. Even I am probably happy some of the time but I don't want to admit to it. If I admit that I am happy, if I go on with my life, then it's as if I am saying, "I'm over this loss." I will never be "over" losing Gene. You get over a cold; you don't get over losing your soul mate.
And yet writing that all down I think, "am I happy?" What is happy in this new context, in this new -- and unwanted -- situation of living without Gene? I honestly don't know.
I have accepted the loss. I have adjusted to it to some degree. I may spend the rest of my life adjusting to it. But happy? I don't know that I will be truly happy ever again. I have happiness and happy times, but being truly happy seems so far away.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Remembering Little Things
I remember how my heart would skip a beat when Gene would walk in the door.
I remember when Gene would shout, "She's home! She's home!" when I walked in the door.
I remember how Gene would go to the front window everyday when I left for work and wave goodbye to me, sending me off with a smile.
I remember how we hugged, kissed and said "I love you" at least once -- and usually several times -- a day.
I remember how he bought me flowers so often that the guys at work would tell him, "You're killing us, Gene." to which he replied, "Then go buy your wives some flowers."
I remember how after a few years of marriage, Gene decided to celebrate our wedding anniversary with anniversary week which included a theme and small gifts each day plus my real anniversary gift on the actual day.
I remember how at Christmas or on my birthday, Gene had bought me gifts I had mentioned in passing months before.
I remember his large hands against my back pulling me tight as we hugged, feeling so safe and knowing there was nowhere else I wanted to be.
I remember our first year married, living in my 800 square foot house. Each morning Gene would sit by the door of the bathroom as I got ready for work and read the day's entry from the book, "Simple Abundance."
I remember building bookcases in a kitchen so small, we barely could move around the sawhorses.
I remember his firm and soft lips and how his kisses could arouse me so quickly.
I remember sitting at Mass on Sundays, always in the same position: Gene on the aisle, me cuddled up against his left side, holding hands with the back of my hand resting on the inside of his left thigh, and his hand enveloping mine.
I remember Sunday breakfasts after Mass first at Friendly's and then Bob Evans.
I remember the poems he wrote for -- and about -- me.
I remember the loving looks across a room at a party or simply across a table at dinner.
I remember the long talks at our favorite Mexican restaurant on Thursday nights.
I remember the bike rides, the movies we loved to go to, the rounds of golf, the travel and a thousand other little things that made our life sing.
I remember when Gene would shout, "She's home! She's home!" when I walked in the door.
I remember how Gene would go to the front window everyday when I left for work and wave goodbye to me, sending me off with a smile.
I remember how we hugged, kissed and said "I love you" at least once -- and usually several times -- a day.
I remember how he bought me flowers so often that the guys at work would tell him, "You're killing us, Gene." to which he replied, "Then go buy your wives some flowers."
I remember how after a few years of marriage, Gene decided to celebrate our wedding anniversary with anniversary week which included a theme and small gifts each day plus my real anniversary gift on the actual day.
I remember how at Christmas or on my birthday, Gene had bought me gifts I had mentioned in passing months before.
I remember his large hands against my back pulling me tight as we hugged, feeling so safe and knowing there was nowhere else I wanted to be.
I remember our first year married, living in my 800 square foot house. Each morning Gene would sit by the door of the bathroom as I got ready for work and read the day's entry from the book, "Simple Abundance."
I remember building bookcases in a kitchen so small, we barely could move around the sawhorses.
I remember his firm and soft lips and how his kisses could arouse me so quickly.
I remember sitting at Mass on Sundays, always in the same position: Gene on the aisle, me cuddled up against his left side, holding hands with the back of my hand resting on the inside of his left thigh, and his hand enveloping mine.
I remember Sunday breakfasts after Mass first at Friendly's and then Bob Evans.
I remember the poems he wrote for -- and about -- me.
I remember the loving looks across a room at a party or simply across a table at dinner.
I remember the long talks at our favorite Mexican restaurant on Thursday nights.
I remember the bike rides, the movies we loved to go to, the rounds of golf, the travel and a thousand other little things that made our life sing.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Life is but it isn't with grief
I will never claim to be a poet but every once in a while, words come to me. Overall, I am doing well, but life just doesn't feel right a lot of the time. And that's what this poem is about. How great life is but it's so hard to enjoy sometimes.
Grief
I'm alive but I'm not really living
I'm living but I don't have a life
I laugh but there's no laughter
I hear songs but there's no music
I eat but there's no taste
I achieve but there's no satisfaction
When I'm with friends, I am still alone
I feel my heart beating but I know it's not really there
It went with him
Grief
I'm alive but I'm not really living
I'm living but I don't have a life
I laugh but there's no laughter
I hear songs but there's no music
I eat but there's no taste
I achieve but there's no satisfaction
When I'm with friends, I am still alone
I feel my heart beating but I know it's not really there
It went with him
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