Sensible Ramble

I have been staring at the computer screen for 30 minutes.  Nothing.  I feel hypocritical.  On one hand saying I don't want to treat February 15 differently than any other day; on the other hand, I force myself to remember all the details about Eric's death.  I'm no dummy.  I know February 15 can never be "just another day."  

Somebody called me a widow earlier this week.  I almost kicked him in the knee, but then I realized, that would be like spitting at somebody who calls me Chinese. Hey, I didn't say I am a sensible person.  Pragmatic, maybe.

(Speaking of being pragmatic, I then wondered if I am supposed to file my taxes as a single or as a widow this year.  Is there such a thing, filing as a widow?  I protest silently that I should be at least 78 to qualify as a widow.  I feel ripped off.)  

The thing about keeping a blog is that I can go back (and I often do) and read my entries to appreciate how much I used to ramble in my writing, how much I used to ache and hurt, how stubborn I became to not be coddled, how determined I was to emerge victoriously.  I had so much pride in me.  My blog was my path to heal. Tonight, I re-read the entry Acceptance, written just a few days shy of the first anniversary of my "widowship."  I wrote about the many fresh perspectives I gained in the first year - especially the perspectives on honoring the way Eric lived, on accepting his decision to die, and my wicked determination to emerge bravely and victoriously.  

Soon, the second full year of Eric's death will come and go.  I have learned to never hide or lie about my emotions, or his death.  I think about my husband everyday in things big and small.  I miss his presence, and feel his absence in everything I do. Everyday, I will remember something about him or us that causes me to shed tears. However, one's life must not be defined by another's death.  My life has moved well beyond.  

I think I have accepted my new normal.