One of the things I have learned about the grief of a spouse that quite surprised me really, is that I'm not just grieving the loss of my soulmate. I'm grieving the loss of part of myself. I feel like the best part of me, that person he fell in love with, died when he did. I used to have this incredible zest for life. To me, each new day with him was an exciting new adventure. I viewed our world with optimism and childlike wonder as long as he was in it. Now, I'm just the shell of the person I used to be. I get up every day and simply go through the motions. There is no excitement. There is no joy. There is definitely no childlike wonder. There is this hole in my heart, in my personality, in the very fabric of who I am, that I don't think will ever be filled back up.
Trying to remember that part of myself is tied directly to the memories he and I made together. When I let my mind travel back through those precious moments of us together, I can feel the optimism, wide-eyed wonder and excitement I felt back then. The moment I stop remembering, those feelings are gone. I loved the person I was with him. I don't like this empty vessel he left behind.
As I sit here writing this, thinking about all of these feelings or the lack thereof, my sarcastic sense of dry wit (my modus operandi for self preservation) kicks into high gear. A song has started playing in my head.... "There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza. There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole..." Yes, there is definitely a hole.... a big, gaping one... in my life, my heart, my soul.