Two nights ago, I was going through a box, with an eye to unpacking it, and found first the beads my friend had draped around my neck when he greeted me at their door, last Mardi Gras, then the material I purchased on our trip together, and finally, at the bottom, the earrrings I had worn for the 2 days of cleaning up the blood from his partner's attempt at suicide just after my friend died.
The thought of going on without him, was impossible for the one who'd loved him on sight, and for 21 years thereafter. I didn't deal with the death of my friend, or the pain of cleaning up all that blood because I couldn't, at the time, I was trying to be strong for the one alive and trying to find a way to go on without him.
When we lost our mate, whether to divorce or to death, the loss is the same. We're faced with trying to construct a new life without them, without all the little shared jokes and shared history, without this person who knew us when we were younger. What I'm discovering, is that I never did have what I thought I did, it was founded upon a web of intricate, convoluted lies.
I recall driving home to sit on my couch, and ask aloud. "Who are you? I do not know you in the way that I went for so long believeing that I did."
I can struggle with this reality, or I can do what Syd has written about this week, and simply trudge through, with a faith that I will understand at some point, or maybe never, but in the meantime, I can give kindness to those around me, and for today, that has to be enough.