Today I was thinking about time and how my experience of it differs from reality. I know we've been over this before. But I think I have a bit more understanding of my head now. And that can't be bad, right?
I was at the drive-up window a few minutes before 5:00 today, looking out at the town and thinking that I've lived here for twenty years and we spent half of our marriage here. It feels laughably impossible that we were married for almost thirty-four years. I look back now and it feels like seven or eight years at the most. Time passes so quickly that it's a bit bewildering. I had thirty-four years with you, but it doesn't feel like a quarter of that. Becky must feel like she and Kyle had a week.
You know that since your death I don't feel time pass. I know that it does, but I don't have any sense of it. Today I realized that all the normal markers of time are gone from my life now. With you not here, there are no more birthday celebrations, no anniversaries, no holidays, no yearly vacations. The only thing that ties me to time is keeping track of payday and when the bills come due.
It seems to be part of the general sense of unreality that characterizes my life now. Father would say that it's to be expected - part of me is in Heaven, and Heaven is outside of time. Maybe it's just my brain. After all, I had a serious head injury a few years ago and clearly nothing can ever be expected of me again. Maybe this is a normal part of grief and widowhood. Whatever the origin, it's still strange and a bit disorienting. And it's one more thing that sets me apart from everybody else, makes me feel alien and alone, on the outside looking in.
I seem to have raised more questions than I answered, didn't I? As always, I would love to hear your input. Come in my dreams and talk to me about it. Or you could just get the Skype problem worked out.