So after 3 years of hardly sleeping, barely able to dress myself, not washing my hair or brushing my teeth for days, and a battle with cervical cancer, I opened a business and tried for 5 years to make a success of it... I walked away.
Away from everyone knowing my business and the constant reminder that I have lost the Mrs. Degree. Writing these articles were even scary, because I was afraid to be told again, that I am not acting like a widow.
But within me was this light that I could feel ... so I decided that I will not be written off, not yet anyway, so touched by tragedy I moved back to Johannesburg, when a director asked me to work on his film. This was me having another stab at the sunlight.
Being back in Johannesburg is trying, but I am cheerful and grateful.
"So, are you involved with anyone yet?" I am asked often and believe me I know that it is meant well, but...for years now I am going to bed alone. I am not sure whether this got easier or became habit.
Being out public, is still not easy, especially not in a world geared towards couples and...
I don't know if I want a boyfriend or another husband, but what I do know is, that which I occasionally do feel the need for; is the touch and feel of a man and some human comfort, preferably without the beer "boep", dandruff, BO and preferably on the right side of 50.
But I am so out of practice with flirting, that when I get home from somewhere and someone spoke to me and I responded, without the walls in my throat closing in, I laugh at the uncertainty of whether they actually flirted with me.
So as a young widow I could not go from catatonic inertia to full blown euphoria in days, weeks or months. No it took me 8 long years, to heal. Now, it feels like the whole world has lifted from my shoulders. I feel better than I felt in years. I am no longer gulping the tears down, at the mention of Marco's name.
Every now and then I pull out the crutches, I've been getting around on, the last 8 years, but it does not take me long to put my wings of possibility, back on, again.
So when they are surprised to hear that I have been going to bed alone for so many years, my response is; "I like sex, if you must know," but is dating or having sex really the only way I can show growth and healing? The topic changes quickly after my response.
What I do not tell them, is that I have learnt to love myself so much, that the next time I fall in love... it will be better.
For now I am just happy that I have been given a second chance in life and that Marco is in the Kalahari and not in an urn in my cupboard...
Yes, if I had my way I would never have gotten out of bed. The loss of the only man I ever loved, devastated me. Grief is severe and self-limiting, but thank goodness, it is not forever.
I did a good job presenting a breezy exterior to the world - but it was a job, but I have resigned from that position and am open to the infinite well of LOVE and am singing a new song.
Feeling the stress of grief and having to learn to live again has been exhausting, but I have discovered the power within me that lifted me out of loneliness and frustration and disease and this is bliss.
So from here onwards most of my articles will be about my relationship with myself... and yes, now and then I will remind myself of how much it hurts, but that is not to provoke sympathy but a reminder of how much I have achieved.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
28 April 2006 "The day we did not die"
Crisp copper leaves falling off the trees, US - just another happy family enjoying a pizza under the trees at Col' Cacchio in Franschoek. Appreciating the weak rays of a sallow sun.
Hours later I am standing on the side of the road, bewildered and confused - spat out of the belly of a runaway tanker, that within minutes violated my every expectation of a life lived "happily ever after". A monument of an angel, my only witness.
That night sleep evaded me. I wanted it to be the next day - and not the day my husband died.
For months/years, 9 to be exact it felt like I was having an "out of body" experience and could not kick grief on it's belly out of my life.
After his cremation, after all the guests had left, I walked around the house clutching the top of my arms, feeling chilly, gazing out the window watching the sun dusting long shadows on the lawn, waiting for something to happen. To wake up and find Marco sitting next to me.
I rushed to our wedding album, - Marco and I walking out of the church. I closed the album quickly, not able to look at what was now a memory.
" You are strong." " I really admire how you just carried on with you life." they said. I had no choice, I had to be strong. I had a two year old boy to raise. Every time I cried, no-one came near me.
Out for dinner, with an old friend one evening, a couple of months later, her husband phones whilst we were enjoying a glass of wine. "She is not acting like a widow", I hear her say. I had no idea how I should be feeling or acting like a widow. So I hid my sadness and mourning became my dirty secret.
After three years, exhausted and raw I phoned my doctor, for I was planning my suicide. Knowing I could not take Luca with me. I started to deal with the messiness of mourning. I have been sitting on the coach in my pyjamas, staring into space whilst Luca was asleep. Sitting and waiting on death.
Some people kept their distance, fearing they would trigger emotion, or be responsible for causing a scene.
I hardly asked anyone anything about anything - making up words was hard - and when I was at the shopping centre or somewhere out, I was wondering where they found the words, when I saw people talking. It was such an effort - so was washing my hair and getting out of bed.
And then one night his brother called. In conversation he says that the sadness about his death was, that he died alone. I could hardly breath as I battled to say a word, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, finally dropping the phone as I stumbled onto the floor. Lying all curled up on the floor, tears fled down my cheeks, soaking my face, I fell asleep. Guilty because I survived.
Days turned into months of long and lonely nights.
Months turned into years of sad anniversaries, lonely Christmases, and just another New Year, wrestling with feelings of loneliness, anger, confusion.
Yes, the light had gone out of mine and Luca's life for a long time. Gradually Luca and I lit the fuse together... and we are learning to live a new life without my husband.
9 Years later, I found personal growth, reason to step forward again... one step at a time.
Now every day is a new day with a new beginning. We welcome new experiences and new people into our lives... And we love.
Hours later I am standing on the side of the road, bewildered and confused - spat out of the belly of a runaway tanker, that within minutes violated my every expectation of a life lived "happily ever after". A monument of an angel, my only witness.
That night sleep evaded me. I wanted it to be the next day - and not the day my husband died.
For months/years, 9 to be exact it felt like I was having an "out of body" experience and could not kick grief on it's belly out of my life.
After his cremation, after all the guests had left, I walked around the house clutching the top of my arms, feeling chilly, gazing out the window watching the sun dusting long shadows on the lawn, waiting for something to happen. To wake up and find Marco sitting next to me.
I rushed to our wedding album, - Marco and I walking out of the church. I closed the album quickly, not able to look at what was now a memory.
" You are strong." " I really admire how you just carried on with you life." they said. I had no choice, I had to be strong. I had a two year old boy to raise. Every time I cried, no-one came near me.
Out for dinner, with an old friend one evening, a couple of months later, her husband phones whilst we were enjoying a glass of wine. "She is not acting like a widow", I hear her say. I had no idea how I should be feeling or acting like a widow. So I hid my sadness and mourning became my dirty secret.
After three years, exhausted and raw I phoned my doctor, for I was planning my suicide. Knowing I could not take Luca with me. I started to deal with the messiness of mourning. I have been sitting on the coach in my pyjamas, staring into space whilst Luca was asleep. Sitting and waiting on death.
Some people kept their distance, fearing they would trigger emotion, or be responsible for causing a scene.
I hardly asked anyone anything about anything - making up words was hard - and when I was at the shopping centre or somewhere out, I was wondering where they found the words, when I saw people talking. It was such an effort - so was washing my hair and getting out of bed.
And then one night his brother called. In conversation he says that the sadness about his death was, that he died alone. I could hardly breath as I battled to say a word, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, finally dropping the phone as I stumbled onto the floor. Lying all curled up on the floor, tears fled down my cheeks, soaking my face, I fell asleep. Guilty because I survived.
Days turned into months of long and lonely nights.
Months turned into years of sad anniversaries, lonely Christmases, and just another New Year, wrestling with feelings of loneliness, anger, confusion.
Yes, the light had gone out of mine and Luca's life for a long time. Gradually Luca and I lit the fuse together... and we are learning to live a new life without my husband.
9 Years later, I found personal growth, reason to step forward again... one step at a time.
Now every day is a new day with a new beginning. We welcome new experiences and new people into our lives... And we love.
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