Sorry (I'm Not Sorry)

Writing My Grief: Days 5-14 

Continuing from my writing course, Writing My Grief, organized by author Megan Devine.

In the second week of this course we had several prompts that brought up how I feel about how other people perceive me and the way that I am grieving. It is mostly about my fears. People have given me no real reason to think that I am grieving wrongly, but these fears seep in nonetheless. I think I know why. 

Day 11: On Behaving Better

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I need to apologize. I'm not sure who to apologize to. Or what for.

Well, sorta I do.

I didn't live up to the image we had in our heads. The perfect widow. Have you ever noticed how many stupid songs there are about widows. Well, not widows specifically, but basically widows. "I would die for you." "I would have no reason to go on without out you." "Better tell the gravedigger that he better dig two."

Are you fucking kidding me? That's not how this works. You don't get to die just because your love dies. You have to keep living. Seriously. You have responsibilities. You have to pick up the kids at 5:00! The daycare closes at 5:30 and they get so sad to be the last kids there. You can't have that. So get your big girl pants on and get out of bed.

Sorry, I digress. The point is, I am not the perfect widow, and these songs are at least partially to blame. They've romanticized the idea of dying for love to a point where we've become completely irrational about what loss looks like. We all know about the "till death do us part," part. The part after that, well, it's a lot less romantic than fairy tales and songs would have you think.

But it isn't just that we have to pick up the kids and keep paying the mortgage on this house that he thought was such a great idea even though it was a squeeze when we had two incomes, let alone one. It's not just that.

It's that you GET to live, too. Not only did I not die for love, I'm actually trying to live.

So I'm sorry. But I'm not sorry, too. I won't wear black every day. It's not going to help me and it doesn't suit me.

I won't sleep next to his pillow every night. I'm going to buy a new damn pillow, the kind that I like. And I'm going to cry massive tears when I throw out the old one because this doesn't have to make any sense to anyone.

I'm going to meet someone new. And I going to keep loving my husband.

I'm going to throw parties and have fun. I'm going to take selfies and look good in them. And then later I'm going to hear our song on the radio and let out a laugh/cry because I always think that he made that song come on the radio somehow to tell me that I'm doing fine and he loves me and he's happy to see me happy. It doesn't have to be true. These are my things, I get to have them.

I don't need to prove that I'm sad, or that I'm not over it, or that I am over it. I don't need to prove that I loved him. And I certainly don't need to prove it by dragging myself further into loneliness and getting stuck in the pain, just so I can live up to some image of complete and utter sadness.

But it still matters that people know. I am sad. I am sad every single day (but not every single minute). Does that make any sense?

It matters so much that people know: I loved my husband. I love him still. He was my world, he was my person, and I was his. Nothing I do will change that. But it might not always look the way it does in the movies or those stupid songs. Will people understand that? I need them to.

It still matters to me that people talk about him. I need all the letters and all the text messages and all the phone calls. I miss my friends so much. I miss Jake's friends. I am so needy. I'm sorry.

In my heart I know that no one's opinion matters more than my own. Not even Jake's (though I have no doubt we are on the same page).

And yet still... when I open my phone, and I see a message, and it's even the slightest bit supportive, I add it like a brick in my wall of confidence. And I prepare for a message that may never come:

you aren't doing this right

you aren't sad enough

you don't honor him. 

Should that message ever come, I hope I won't say I'm sorry. I hope I will say, "you're wrong."

-hmv 4/9/18