Sometimes I wonder how I will do it. How will I live another five, ten, twenty years without my husband? I have heard over and over again that time will soften the edges, and I know that it has to a certain extent already. But there is still so much sorrow inside me, it might lay dormant for a day or so, but it always comes out.
I sit in my living room and there are times when I close my eyes and remember. Memories of all sorts of occasions. We moved into this home in 1994; there are a lot of memories, Kevin at the heart of most of them. They seem to fill the room, and some days they make me happy and other days they are just too much. I, we the family, suffered a grievous blow when he died.
Within the house, I haven’t changed a thing since Kevin died, not a thing. I know that for some of our friends that makes it hard to come here, and that’s okay. I have kept it so for me, I need the connection still, even though it may make me sad. There will come a time when I finally do change the house around, it is just a matter of all things in their own time.
I remember when Kevin got first got sick, we talked about life lessons. What lesson was he to learn from dying from cancer – this was his question not mine. He figured he was to learn humility, to move from the front to the back and eventually falter and fail. It was a hard thing to watch, his slow decline. But I do have my memories, and most of them centre around the craziness and energy that defined him for most of his life. I think that’s why it is so sad when I consider the future. It’s like staring at a bright light and then looking away – there’s those black holes in your vision that take while to come back. Those blotches in my vision haven’t cleared yet.
Tonight is a “down” night, I think that is obvious. Tomorrow will be better, and if it isn’t, then the next day will be.