Somehow, this post became a new page, instead of a new post. It’s from last week – I have edited it some..

The effort it takes to be strong for everyone else makes me so weak.

I keep having these thoughts…strange and disorienting. I keep thinking that somehow, God is going to give me a re-do and I’ll get a chance to save Jon’s life by getting him to the doctor in time. This has to happen..I have to be able to fix things. Because my life cannot be this. My life cannot be that I am a widow, barely into my thirties, and with two small children.

It doesn’t make any sense. He was just here

Sometimes, I feel like my brains are fighting a war within themselves. They argue with the thoughts that refuse to believe he’s gone. And he’s not coming back.

He’s not coming back. Ever. Not unless the Second Coming happens in my lifetime.  A lot of people believe it will, but I’m sort of at a loss for all of that. What used to comfort me about the future, now only serves to confuse me. What is there to look forward to, if the love we have here isn’t the same as what we get when we are there?

I want nothing more than to have his love again.  I know that I’m probably idolizing him, and making him more important than God, but I don’t know how else to feel. I don’t know how to separate who I know my husband was to me, from who he is now.

Will we love the way we did? Will God change things, and fix them? Probably not…

More confusion. How do I memorialize something that is gone? How do I release it? Where does it go? Why was it there in the first place, if it’s not eternal? Who wants to invest that much of their heart into something that is finite and mortal? What is the point?

I can tell you, that I probably won’t be able to love again for a very long time. I’m starting to see that the investment into life for Love’s sake isn’t worth it. Not when you can lose it so easily, and it’s gone.

The whole marriage thing – a joke. It’s not forever. It’s just for this life. And this life ends. It ends. Quickly and effortlessly.  It leaves a cavity that simply hurts.

The more days that pass, the more I see that this really isn’t fair. My children are missing out on a father. My life has no companion. And while I’m happy for those that have new love and existing love in their lives, the pain of watching it happen for everyone else is acute. It’s incredibly hard to not envy happy couples everywhere I go. They’re everywhere. Mothers and fathers, carrying bunches of kids in strollers and shopping cars. Newlyweds, with their arms so tangled together, you can’t tell which is where. Millions of satisfied customers, who buy into the Game of Life, and the part about Love.

And I am reduced to the widow, outside looking in, and completely misunderstood. People feel the need to remind me that I have to live for my girls, as if I need to remember. People feel the need to gently coax me into not dating anyone right now, because they think I need to be reminded that it’s too soon. People who tell me time will fix things.

And all those same people. ALL of them, have never ever experienced what I have experienced. Not even remotely. They have lost a grandparent. A dog. A favorite uncle. All terrible versions of grief. But nothing that totally STOPS their lives and forever alters it so much, that they don’t even recognize themselves in the mirror anymore.

And yet, they know better than me. They know what I need to hear and what I need to think about. And it doesn’t include anything that would make THEM uncomfortable, such as a warm body in my bed or looking forward to the end of this harrowing journey. It’s better, they think, that I am reminded of what I have left. The remains.

It has all become remains.

I wish I was as nice and tolerant as Jon was to everyone. Yes, to me, he was more open and honest about what he thought of people. But that was ours. Our secrets and our words. To everyone else, he was as he appeared. A beautiful, benevolent soul, without a mean bone in his body. And indeed, that is the truth.

I will not leave such a legacy. Instead, I will be remembered for how much I had to say, and whether or not people thought I said anything of substance. I will be remembered for being Jon’s widow, and the woman he made his only wife.

And I’d better learn to live like that. I’d better learn to play happy, to smile when I want to scream and to remember Jon with a detached fondness, as one would remember their Kindergarten teacher.

That’s what a “STRONG” woman does. She does not beg God for death, or wonder if being single forever is really that bad. She doesn’t constantly have to swallow the lump in her throat, or else spill her tears and she allows time to anesthetize her heart without drama or speaking of her dead husband too much.

She controls her envy for those that get a lifetime of marriage, bites her tongue when people tell her what is best for her, and lives her life solely for her children. She has no identity anymore.

I don’t know if I want to be strong. I only know that I’m tired of pretending I’m not weak.