Same & Change

Lately, there has been a great restlessness upon me.

There are changes that I long to make in my life.

Yet, I find myself at more of a standstill than anything else.

I am unsure of myself.

My confidence is at one of the lowest points of my life.

I simply am existing in life.

Living this life that swirls around me – just going through the motions of living.

Morning follows night. 

Night follows the day. 

I try to find contentment in what I am doing, where I am, or who I am with – even when I am alone.

But without Rick, I am unsettled, underwhelmed – and overwhelmed.

There is no one to swoop in and change this for me – just me.

I need to follow my intuition – that “gut feeling” that Rick talked so much about.

But . . . sigh.

I have made decisions and choices in the last 9 years – some were disastrous, some not so much – all were trying to prove to myself, as well as to others, that I can be in charge of my own life.

I am a grown woman – and “a native born Texican” (from Quigly Down Under).

Now, as I sit here this morning – 9 years and 3 months after Rick died – the one thing I can say for certain:

Proving anything to myself, or anyone else, has been unsuccessful.

Because life churns around me, and through me, with no thought or relief to how tired and weary I have become in these struggles.

I have not forgotten the emptiness of the bed, the chairs that sit quietly, the laundry that is only mine, the mess that only I make, the dishes that only I use.

No amount of trying has been successful.

Rick’s absence remains painfully obvious – every breath I take, every move I make, every memory that rolls down my cheeks.

Moving from place to place.

Rearranging furniture in the house.

Cooking, or ordering out.

Sleeping, or waking.

Rick is still a picture in my mind – and still missing.

I have grown tired – no, exhausted – of all these ineffective and makeshift attempts to reclaiming my life.

Yes, I feel the winds of change blowing around me, and deep inside my soul.

But still.

I do not find the confidence to bring them to life.

I am frustrated, and discouraged, with my lack of commitment – at how easily I fizzle out.

I want to do something significant to change my life

– how foolish it is of me to continue watching life from the sidelines.

But what.

And more importantly – HOW.

Rick is not going to become “undead”.

Rick is not going to come home from work.

Rick is not out there somewhere looking for me.

Only one of us is alive now – and that’s me.

I need to start acting like it.

I am no longer in survival mode.

It’s been long enough.

I have survived - when I thought I wouldn't. 

Besides, surviving his death isn’t enough to satisfy me these days.

I want to do more.

I want to LIVE again.

I want to thrive again.

For myself.

For our children, our grandchildren, our great-grandchildren.

And for others who are on this road of grief.

Thriving must involve changes that go deeper, and wider, that are stronger, than a place to call “home”, or a meal to eat, or a show to watch, a book to read.

Changes that aren’t about the color of the walls, or the covers on a bed, or any other “creation” I can do.

Before Rick died, I was confident and very self-assured.

I knew HE had my back.

He told me when we got married to BE me.

To say what I wanted to say, to wear what I wanted to wear, to go where I wanted to go.

And if anyone came against me – HE would handle it.

And he did.

Now?

One of the hardest things for me to do in this widow’s life is to make decisions – big or small.

Ones that will determine this day, or my future.

Ones that will be long forgotten in a few hours, and those that will be long remembered – long after I am gone.

The worries and fears of "what if" haunt and torment me into a motionless life more than I like to admit. 

Rick used to tease me, with that twinkle in his eyes, about me changing so easily.

From rearranging furniture so that he was lost in the darkness and sleepiness of the night – to what we were eating or where we were going.

Change was easy.

Change was FUN – then.

Now, change scares the be-jeebies out of me!

I am much more comfortable with the same old same.

Day after day, week after week.

Hour after hour.

The same TV shows, or movies, to watch.

The same music to listen to.

The same places to go.

The same foods to eat.

The same clothes to wear.

The same hairstyle to have.

And the list of “SAME” goes on . . . and on . . and on.

Without Rick, my life is unrecognizable.

Change makes it more so.

Yet, I know in this morning as I sit here writing these words, I MUST take action.

I MUST change.

I MUST move out of my comfort zone.

I cannot continue to live the way I have been – because I am neither content, nor happy. 

I am just stuck.

Even after 9 years, I spend a lot of my time lost in thought – past, present and future, thoughts.

Wonderings.

How is this real?

Did he really die?

Or is he just at work, and forgotten to call me?

Has he been detained somewhere for all this time?

Where is he?

Why doesn’t he come home!

Or perhaps this is one of those horrible nightmares that I can’t wake up from!

Why doesn’t the alarm go off?

Why doesn’t someone care enough to wake me up!

How long will it take for me to “get it”?

When will the grasping of this permanent change take place?

I admit.

It’s easy to daydream about the days that are gone.

The life we lived.

The love we made.

The laughter that rang out in our home – all hours of the days and nights.

In my mind, and in my heart, he is still very much alive.

BUT, he’s not alive.

He died.

He’s gone from this earth.

From my world.

And now, I need to let my life get louder, while his memory gets softer.

Oh, he will never be forgotten.

I won’t let that happen!

Not for me, not for our kids, our grandkids, or even our great-grandkids who will never have the chance to see him, or know his love for them.

But my life – this widow’s life – calls to be LIVED.

This living in 2 worlds is exhausting.

Keeping him “alive” in my thoughts and memories, yet, living in this physical world without him.

Struggling to participate in life – at least some – and yet, not ever being fully present.

Truth be told – I exist somewhere, somehow, between these 2 worlds.

The exhaustion comes in being untethered to either place.

Wandering between the dimensions of past and present, and the future.

I am nowhere.

There is no “home” now.

For RICK was home to me.

And yet, I am here.

Tedious does not begin to describe this existence.

While I know I must change, that I cannot continue to be like this

– because this is NOT living, and I know Rick would not want this for me

– I don’t know how to fix it.

Oh, I know I need to shake things up.

I need to make new memories that are mine.

I need to separate myself from the life we created together.

How.

I have almost no physical traces of him left.

Yet, I am stuck.

How do I stop on this unfamiliar path and look beyond my comfort zone?

More than that, how do I take a step out of my comfort zone?

How do I breathe each moment in?

How do I stand there, alone, and just BE in the moment?

How do I learn to BE enough – on my own, alone?

How do I create adventure in my ordinary life so that it stirs LIFE back into me?

The answer must lie in little by little, breath by breath.

And that must begin today . . .

Godspeed to me . . .

And to you . . .