Strange Dichotomy

This is my first Easter without my husband.  My first Easter as a widow.

I have spent much of today crying, sad, lonely and missing him enormously.  I love him with all my heart and losing him has left a hole in my heart that I can’t imagine ever being healed.

I miss him.

I miss his light.

I miss his presence.

I miss his sense of humour.

I miss his strength of character.

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We talked, he and I, a long time ago before we ever thought something like this would happen.   We talked about after.  About what if.

Strange thing is, even with his health issues, even after his heart attacks, I thought I would be the one to go first.  I thought he would have to learn to live without me.

I never once thought I’d have to learn to live without him.

We talked about love after.  About what would happen.   I told him he needed to find love again.   He told me he never would.

He told me I needed to find love again.  I told him I was going lesbian.   I had the best – no other man could ever compare to him.

In the 9 1/2 months since he’s been gone, I had a 2 month tryst with a hot guy…”George” and I’ve gone on 7 or 8 first dates.

None of them were love relationships.   They were convenient, they were fun, but they were not a love relationship.

I  am in a relationship now… one where the feelings are remarkably similar to how I felt about Mark when we first got together.   There is a “love” overtone that flavours everything I do right now.  It’s a pleasant, warm feeling that is also confusing and scary when it comes to trying to deal with the grief.

My biggest fear is falling in love with someone who may be unable to handle the reality of grief.  Who may not get what it means to be in love with him… and still in love with Mark and missing Mark horribly as well.   Someone who doesn’t get that I can love more than one.

In the meantime… the relationship is in it’s early stages.  We’re still getting to know each other.  We’re still working out the kinks of who we are to each other.

And tonight… I miss Mark.

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