Okay

There’s a place on the Esplinade where a ramp leads up to the Mass Ave. Bridge. On the first part of it, there’s a corner point with a railing and a lovely view of the Charles. There’s always so much activity going on; sailing, rollerblading; running; biking; sculling; kayaking and much more. Yesterday, on my walk home from Boston, I stopped at that corner for about five minutes, rested my chin on my arms, took in the scene and let the perfect river breeze blow my hair back. My brain emptied. Water does that to me. The most relaxing, comforting setting I can be in is one where there is a body of water; preferably the ocean. The ocean provokes deep relaxation and reflection within me.

Yesterday’s weather was so perfect that I just had to be outside. I walked from South Station to Central Square, popped into Whole Foods to get some things and then got on the train to come home. On the train, it suddenly occurred to me that I was feeling completely free and completely happy. Maybe it was the water. Maybe it’s the continued improving weather. I just know that I felt one hundred percent independent and though the events leading up to my newfound independence were and at times continue to be soul-shattering, I realized that I liked how I was feeling sitting on the train on my way to Davis Square. I thought back to a time before I met Chris. I had been alone for four years and lived as a fiercely independent woman. I’m not the type of woman who has always needed a man by my side. I don’t know if that has changed or not, but I suppose that remains to be seen. Sitting on the train, after my walk and my pause at the Charles, I began to feel a dream-like sense of familiarity from years ago; the familiarity of self-sufficiency.

When I think back to the last year and half, specifically the year Chris and I spent in Brighton, I can’t believe that girl was me. Though I tried very hard, I can’t remember what it felt like to be me the past year and a half. I don’t remember what my thoughts were. It’s like a void formed in my head and in my very being from the time we got Chris’ first diagnosis until yesterday. Where the hell have I been all this time? Lost. Carol said it sounds like I turned off all of my emotions for the past year and a half. I think she’s right. I couldn’t feel. It was too horrifying. Besides, I had to be there for Chris. I may not have had any control over his illness but I had complete control over how I acted when I walked through that door every night. It was the most important part I would ever play; the part of the happy, light-hearted, worry-free wife. I did it to make Chris’ life as happy as it could possibly be. He deserved to laugh and he deserved as much happiness as I could possibly muster up. And I did it. And now I don’t remember what that felt like. I think it’s possible that I spent the past year and a half trapped in deep desperation which I cloaked in blanket of “okays”.

But now I’m beginning to feel like me again and that conjures up a vision of healing wounds.

I loved my husband with absolutely everything I have inside of me and I always will and part of me will always feel lost without him. I’m becoming independent again. I’d rather spend the rest of my life squished up against Creej, holding on and encircling myself in the safety of him. Other widows do that. I don’t want to, though. That’s not who I want to be. It’s going to take time, work, faith and as much strength as I can muster, and when all is said and done, I’ll be okay.