Widowed Without A Manual

Some of us grieve longer then others. I will not be rushed out of my love, that still inhabits my heart.

Freezing Rain

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I am so very fortunate to be able to look outside and decide that it was not going to be a day to go out.

I was to get my brakes done today, but the freezing rain has gifted me a day to paint.

The unsuspecting wave was more like a dark shadow that kept getting larger. I used to have nightmares as a child of person like shadows getting larger and larger till they occupied everything in the room, then I would wake up very frightened. 

I think that my family has this urgency of my getting past the grieving but in reality they may not be thinking it at all. They are probably not thinking of me at all, except for wanting me out of my mum’s house.

The reality is my life is just that, my life. I can’t expect anyone to fully understand or sympathize because they are not the ones that were married for 32 years. They were not the ones that had my life. So it really is unfair for me to expect understanding.

I have been reading bits of Joyce  Carol Oates book A Widows Story Memoir and although some critiques are harsh with their description of it perhaps they would change their mind if in fact they were widowed. Joyce’s descriptions are comforting to me for I too go through them as well and I don’t feel so alone or crazy. She hides from the phone. I sit looking at it and often will not pick it up. There were weeks that I would put my hands over my ears till the message was finished then I would leave the messages on for days. When I’m in a wave I feel drugged or ill, like having the flu. I love my bed and can’t seem to get enough feathers under and over me. If we all go through this why is it so foreign to me? Why have I not heard other widows speak of this as I was growing up? Waring black seems like a good idea to me now. Something international of sorts that is identifiable with grieving. When my sister died I wore black for nearly two years. My mother told me please don’t ware black no more, but I felt like I was the only one grieving her besides her two daughters. She was perceived as the black sheep of the family. She dared to be different. I missed her terribly.

I have thought as a team for so long, that I am finding it hard to think for one.

I aim to get one thing done today, even if it’s just this blog.

 

 

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Author: ilovecloudstoo

I live in Canada though​ I was not born here. Newfoundland is where my heart breathes. Primarily I am a visual artist, welded and or cast bronze sculptures. Sylvia Plath may have been the seed planted in me that is creating poetry. Since then I have read so many great modern poets work. Art is my sustaining business poetry sustains my soul.

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