Blogger Template by Blogcrowds

The last week has been pure d-hell.  Not sure what d-hell is, but I heard it alot growing up.  Apparently many things stay with us from our younger years that we don't necessarily understand.  I suppose some of it is regionally assigned as well.  Whatever.

Somewhere at the beginning of this hell hole was a quibble over a word.  Amazing how much weight one little four letter word can carry.  Seeing the word caused a great pain to my heart and after a morning of bawling over it, I had to respond.  My tact may not have been received as intended; I swear I was wearing velvet gloves.  I suppose the ricochet stung even harder. Result was tears all around.  After two days, I gave up.  Whatever.

Into my world has arrived a bouncing baby girl.  OK, not mine, not a baby, but definitely a girl.  She comes with a very wicked mother.  Who has been stalking me/us.  For years it seems.  Her name caused something to jar loose in my memory about a time a few years back when I was doing a background check on us both for identity fraud protection.  There was a name that showed up with our address in our previous city on the record for my husband.  A name neither of us recognized.  But another address for this name on the same report was very close to where I live now.  And that light bulb went off this week.  Over the last week, I have been followed, had drive-bys, and at one place, had the benefit of an almost face-to-face with girl and said wicked mother who chose to sit at the adjoining table facing me throughout the night.  Very obvious that they knew who I was, but no contact or communication.  Lots of glares, snickers, cell phone texting.  What I do not understand is why this wicked woman approached the ex-wife with this revelation.  I mean, who calls the ex after 28 years and says "oh by the way, I fucked your husband while you were separated.  Just thought you'd like to know.  And before I forget, he is the father of my daughter"?   I have asked around and this ww called a friend of hubby's not long after he died and asked about him...."was it true?"  "did he leave anything?"  WTF???  I've come to realize that there is no "I want to know about my daddy" in any of this, but more of a "pay me money."  Whatever.

To top off the week, a friend of mine lost her husband Saturday week.  They were high school sweethearts, had been married 29 years and have two girls, the youngest a senior in high school.  Of course I was at the wake and the funeral, although I was terribly worried over how I would hold up for her.  And I think I failed miserably.  Not sure if it is the difference between those who "get it" and those who don't, but there was none of those trite comments coming from my mouth.  Oh no, I was very honest....perhaps too honest.   I found a lovely card by Maya Angelou that I felt best fit the circumstances.  It said "It's hard to hear talk about peace and angels and heaven when you've got a big hole where your heart used to be."  And then I rambled in all of the available space with heartfelt realities of how painful this is for them all, how they should support each other, that the pain never goes away.  They all thanked me, but I secretly wonder if the timing was wrong.  I know the message was spot on, but with the overwhelming grief and pain they are experiencing now, perhaps I should have yanked out that velvet glove once again.  No whatever here.  This one is real....and raw.....and needs care and feeding.  This one is important.

So I have come to the stark realization that widows....well, THIS of little interest to the general population other than as a curious interest or oddity.  You know, like a train wreck.  You don't want to look, but you just can't help yourself. I am somehow different (duh!) and must not be approached, included, or engaged but rather stalked, rebuffed and ridiculed.  Whatever. more that is.  A wrinkle has developed recently that involves another (possible) soul.  One who will never have the joy of sharing in the life of the man I love.  Someone who was suspected of existing, but never found.  A tsunami of emotion has flooded the lives of our children who now have knowledge of someone they are unsure of or what to do with this revelation. 

Wade and I had no secrets.  I'm sure we had some small secrets but definitely no big, earth-shattering secrets.  We loved each other, warts and all.  Honesty was one of the cornerstones of our relationship from the very beginning.  And he shared with me early on that while separated from his first wife, a woman he was seeing had told him she was pregnant.  With his child.  She, too, was separated, but chose to return to her husband and raise the child with him.  Wade had struggled with this, wondering if indeed this was his child, but could not justify in his mind or his heart that by intruding into her life anything positive would come from it.  He and I discussed on several occasions that when she was an adult and if her parents shared with her this (supposed) fact, he would be available.  I say supposed and possible simply because nothing is factual at this point.  But the question has been there for many years.  27 years to be exact.

I did not know the name of this woman so had no way to search her out when Wade died.  I asked his closest friends if they had any knowledge of this and no one knew of it.  About a year before he died, he shared this with his mother and brother, but no names were ever mentioned.

Yet somehow the ex-wife has now come in contact with this woman and felt compelled to share with her daughters, who have shared this with me and my/our daughters (I had one, he had three, we had one.....yours, mine, and ours). I do not know who sought out whom, but it is irrelevant at this time.

The kicker is that I moved into a neighborhood close to Wade's family (as was our plan) and have now learned that 1) the girl's father lives in the same neighborhood and 2) the girl works at the C-store down the street.  I have seen her many times since I frequent the store several times a week.  Now I see her with a different eye and I wonder.  I wonder who is driving this bus; who's hands are steering the wheel and where exactly is the destination we are headed towards?

Busting Out

Its been said that there are several events in one's life that create a great deal of stress.  Death of a spouse would certainly rank at the top of the list.....check
Losing a job......check
Change in financial situation....check. 
Children leaving home.....check.

Yep, the house is sold.  And it is breaking my heart.  This home has so very much of Wade in it, everywhere I look I see his handy work.  I remember every single project that we did together.  I've looked at the pictures and relived each and every upgrade and improvement.  I have rifled through all the receipts and clearly remember the debates we had over color selections or material choices. 

And now this home that has been my cocoon for almost two years since he died will be handed over to a new family in a few short weeks. 

When the buyers scheduled their second viewing, I was out of town and thankfully was sitting in my car in a parking lot.  I cried uncontrollably.  Then a few weeks later when an offer was submitted, again I cried.  The other day when the final acceptance was completed, I broke down and cried hysterically.

Our youngest daughter moved out in December to her own place.  I'm so very proud of her taking the leap, but honestly it broke my heart to see her go.  And now my sister is moving out this weekend to her own place.  That leaves me here all alone until April 16 to pack the PODS with stuff.  I don't want the stuff.  I want him back and I want the life back we had together.  I'd give up all the stuff in a heartbeat just to have him back.

Sadly, I don't have a plan on where I am going.  Haven't a clue.  So the stuff will go to storage and I will go.......hell, I don't know where I'll go.  But I have a dog and two cats that need a home as well.  So I better figure something out, and quickly, too.  If only Wade were here; we would be having a great time planning out our future.  Instead, I spend my time lost in memories as I pack them away in boxes.

Where Are You? (part deux)

Received an email this morning from my father.  The subject was "Where Are You?"

A man of few words.  Very.few.words.  All of the words he has ever spoken to me throughout my lifetime wouldn't fill the first volume of an encyclopedia.  And he has to choose these three words in an email to me?  The same three words which were the last I ever heard from my dying husband?  WTF?!?!?  

Newer Posts Older Posts Home