Gilbert died five months ago, and I'm beginning to realize that the Old Melissa died with him. Now I have to invent the New Melissa or allow her to surface; I'm not sure how it works.
It's so odd to suddenly not have a routine. I don't have to wear ear buds if I want to listen to music in bed late at night. The dog doesn't mind if it's noisy at 2:00 am. I can eat dinner at three in the afternoon or midnight and nobody cares. I don't have to cook for anybody but myself.
My dinner can be anything from homemade nutritious soup to a can of frosting. It depends on how sad and tired I am.
I go out to the mailbox at 4:00 in the afternoon and I'm still in my pajamas, but I watch video tutorials on makeup for older women and try to make myself look not so pale. I wonder if Botox might make me look less like I've suffered a terrible loss and more like my old self, then I realize I'd have to get dressed to go get Botox.
I have big plans. I'm going to work in the garden, take the dogs on brisk walks, visit friends, volunteer, travel, take classes. I just can't make myself take the first step, although I did register for Camp Widow in San Diego.
A friend told me to cut myself some slack, my loss was still new. It doesn't feel new. I feel as if I've been a widow forever. On the other hand, I still can't really believe Gilbert is never coming back.
In retrospect, I see that I have come a long way in these five months. I don't sob and vomit all day anymore. I make it a point to talk to someone every day so I don't get too isolated.
I just don't know what to do now. I suppose I'll find something meaningful to do with my time. It's just a matter of gathering strength and focus and not letting despair win.