That’s probably not a shock.
I’m a widow. It’s expected.
And don’t get me wrong.
My friends and family do their very best to make me feel included.
I also know that I could call a dozen people who would go with me to a movie, a meal, or shopping.
I love you all, but you are not my husband.
I’m like a solider who has lost a limb.
You can give me prosthesis for my loss, but it’s never the same.
It’s NEVER the same.
And I miss what I lost…feel phantom pain in it.
Several widows have mentored me, which is a blessing.
And I belong to a wonderful on-line support group where I can share my heart with fellow “amputees.”
They confirm that my feelings are normal…that I’m not crazy.
They get me and my aches because they are living it.
But nothing, NOTHING can take the place, in my life and heart, of what has been taken from me.
I am left with this unending solitude…this forever one-ness…even in a crowd.
It never ends.
I have no one to share my joys and burdens.
I have no one to bounce ideas with or share secrets.
I have no one to cuddle up against when it gets cold at night.
I have no one to look forward to seeing at the end of the day.
I can fill my waking hours with all sorts of activities,
But when I crawl into bed at night…
I am still a lonely widow missing the man who was amputated from my life.