I Can’t Promise

“I can’t promise to love you for the rest of your life, but I promise I’ll love you for the rest of mine.”

I saw this on a lovely little knick-nack the other day.

At first, there was the acid wash of grief over my heart, the hitch of breath, the pain that accompanies a reminder of what was lost.

Then I realized… I WILL love him for the rest of mine.

And that’s amazing.

I looked over at the Sexy Chef, and thought to myself… this applies to you. I can’t promise I’ll love you for the rest of your life, but I promise I’ll love you for the rest of mine.

Love is my superpower. And I was blessed not once, but twice with a man who loves me, with all my flaws, my imperfections and my quirks.

Long live love.  For the rest of my life…

Long-Live-Love

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A Myriad of Emotions

I’m happy.  Ridiculously happy. And I feel like crying.

I said to the Sexy Chef when we were shopping for groceries… “I don’t like always being the sad one you know.”

It’s exhausting. I’m sad.  I’m happy. Every damn thing is tinged with sadness. Everything.

At this moment, I want to take my Sexy Chef to bed.  I want to rock his world.  And I want to bawl.  I feel broken and brittle and like I’m going to fall apart at the slightest thing.

I don’t like feeling like this.  The joys of widowhood are that I am forever fighting with the sadness.  I LOVE my sexy chef. He brings such joy to my life.  He’s kind and considerate and loves me for exactly who I am. I want to revel in that. I want to lose myself in him.

Fuck widowhood. Fuck having to forever have that golden thread of grief running through every damn thing I do.

I want to feel joy with the blissful ignorance of someone who hasn’t known loss.

I want to lose myself in a moment without the knowledge that life can change in just one moment.

And in the kitchen, he pulls me around, makes me look him in the eye and says to me… “You’re ok.”

And for one second, I can, I do, lose myself in the moment and forget that it might change when I blink.

For one second… I am lost in the love of a man who loves me for me.  The good, the bad, and the broken.

One DayTurn On the LightIt's Going to be Ok SomedayKintsugi

Random Grief Storms

This one wasn’t so much of a storm as it was a bit of a shower.

In the middle of class, talking about the family of patients, and a classmate talks about her experiences as the daughter being there for the mom in an actual setting.

I know her mom died.

I don’t know why… but flashbacks.  Random memories. How the amazing nurses treated me vs how the competent nurses treated me vs how the ok nurses treated me vs how the awful nurses treated me.

And tears.  In the middle of class.  Nowhere to hide.

But I managed to get them under control, because do I really want to explain to everyone how devastating it was and how amazing it was to be in that position?

Nope.  Not today. But the grief storm hit anyhow.  And I dealt with it.

It’s nice? to know that the randomness will still hit me. Without warning.

YAY! for random grief storms. *sigh*

Really okStages-of-Grief

Only Parenting…

That moment when you have to be the shoulder your 16 year old cries on because his first love broke his heart.

That moment when you wish, beyond all reason, that his Dad, who did the teenager thing WAY better than you ever could have, was there to hug him better.

That moment when you watch your boy morph into a man as he dries his tears, puts on a bit of a stoic face and interacts with the strangers you brought him to meet. Despite having a broken heart.

That moment when you hope you’re doing the right thing, because your best is all you have to work with.

That moment when you realize that being the only parent sucks so badly… but it’s all you’ve got.

 

Finding Love Again

I’ve gone through a couple boyfriends since Mark died.

One was just for fun (George – he was my happy place) and the other I thought was my chapter 2 (my Metalhead Poet) but wasn’t.

I’ve hurt.  I’ve cried. I’ve gone on a number of crappy first dates through Plenty of Fish.  I had almost decided that I’m not destined to find love again.

And then I did. I found my Sexy Chef.

I met him on POF. Had a date.  Threatened to kill him. (literally – I said to him “I’m going to kill you if you don’t let me sleep).  Had another date.  Got into a fight type thing.  Told him flat out that I didn’t want to date him, and that I was happy to be friends but for a number of reasons (the fight being one of them) I didn’t want to date him.

We became friends. We talked.  A lot. And then… I started to fall for him.

He traveled six hours to take a chance that perhaps we might have a real connection.

We do.

We have an amazing connection. I’ve fallen in love with a man who is kind, considerate, respectful, loving, caring and so passionate and supportive about me being me.

We mesh well.  We communicate well. We… … do other things well. We are very compatible.

This weekend, I met his family – most of them. We spent a night with his mom and step-dad, his brother and his sister-in-law and his niece and nephews.

They are lovely people. Really freaking awesome people. Despite my overwhelming anxiety before I got there, I was quickly made to feel welcome and I felt at home.

It’s amazing, finding love again. Finding the place where bliss and joy meet in a potential future. And discovering that I can open my heart again.  Being able to place my heart in someone else’s hands, and trust that he will keep it safe… that is an amazing thing.

I have found love again. And it’s beautiful. And he loves me. In all my beautiful broken-ness.

One Day