Friday, May 18, 2012

Just What is Broken Here?

Dear John,

I'm better. I started feeling human at 5 pm today, ate normal food for dinner, and am getting some energy back. Henceforth I will keep Gatorade in the house. 

Brain function resumed around 5 pm, too. Tonight I've been pondering myself, my life, the universe, and everything. (You know I prefer small subjects.) It feels like I'm still the same, it's just that the whole world has changed around me. Suddenly I'm living this completely different life that I don't know anything about. Everything has changed: the house is different, and will get more so as I sort through your things; people are treating me differently; my schedule and routine are different; all my thoughts and plans for the future are gone; things I liked to do and places I liked to go are gone; all my friendships are changed because I'm not part of a couple anymore. There is nothing that has not changed. My life doesn't fit me, it's not comfortable - it doesn't feel like it's really mine. 

What started me thinking was a bit of a song that I heard on TV tonight, a line about being broken. And I thought: I'm not broken, my life is. I don't need to heal as much as I need to learn how to live this new life. I want my old life back, but I can't have that. I'll learn to live this one; it will gradually start to fit better, maybe one day it will even feel like it's mine. I will learn to be content here, maybe even learn to enjoy this life someday.

I guess that's another way of saying what I've always told others about loss: you don't get over it, you learn to live more comfortably with it. I've had other losses; what I didn't know was that loss this big changes everything. It's just that I don't feel like I'm any different. (You know, like Joe Walsh says: Everybody's so different; I haven't changed.)

I'll have to come back to this, probably many times. To sum up where I am at this point: I'm the same but this new life stinks. I do hope that summary alters in the future. But I'm not holding my breath. At least I know this separation is temporary. How do people live without that assurance? We never did figure that out, did we?

I have a dog here wanting to go to bed, so I'll take my ponderings off where they won't annoy you any longer. Thank you for your prayers. I love you. I promise to do my best here without you.

Miss you so much,
Joan.

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