Today's post is written by Amanda, who shares her perspective on the love of her life and her widowed journey, with us from her home in Australia. Thank you Amanda for this peek into your heart.
I’m trying to keep us steady in this new normal…this Clayton’s normal…and there are some moments where I feel like we are OK, we three.
We joke around. We talk about our day. We read and laugh and play. We do chores. We have a routine that ensures we joke and laugh and read and clean and play….….and I am the supreme leader with whom resistance is futile.
Wake UP sleepyhead. Eat your breakfast. Dishes in the sink. Get dressed. Dirty clothes in the hamper. Brush your teeth. Do your hair. Wash your face. Put your lunch in your bag. Make sure you’ve got your homework and your hat. Get in the car. NOW! Walk to class. Say “Goodbye Mummy, I love you”. Do your school work. Eat the lunch I made for you. No you cannot have tuckshop. Meet me at 3pm. Get in the car. Lunch box on the counter when you get home. Do your homework. Play outside. Come in when it’s dark. Have a bath. Eat your dinner. Tidy up your things. Brush your teeth. Read to me. Go to bed. I love you, goodnight.
That’s it. That’s out typical day: rigid, ordered, routine.
Sometimes I feel so bad about having to keep such a tight rein on the kids, but other times I can see the pay-offs:
We function.
We eat and we sleep well.
We wear clean clothes and eat healthy food from clean plates.
Sometimes we do something interesting and fun….
… like wake up early to watch the planets align.
… like soccer training.
…like fishing and riding scooters and eating ice-creams at the beach.
But it’s all a pale comparison of the life we were supposed to have: the life with a husband and father in it. The life where the burden of being responsible for small people was shared between two. The life where the workload was halved and the love doubled. The life where fun was spontaneous and the routine less rigid.
…and I mourn the loss of that life as an additional loss to the loss of my husband.
Hugs. And I imagine it is probably a catch 22 situation- your routine enables you to give the idea to the rest of the world that all is a-ok and you are wonder woman (which you always have been regardless) and it must show how well you are coping. I think to those of us though that see the pain and hurt and just want to keep giving you hugs because words seem pretty pointless we know the grief is still there for you.
ReplyDeleteF xxx
It must be so challenging. I'm glad there have been some interesting and fun moments.
ReplyDeleteWe thrive on routine at our house but for very different reasons.
Beautifully written, Amanda.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing that Amanda, I can't imagine what life would be like without my husband. I'm so sorry for your loss, you sound like you're doing such a great job with your family. Your children are very lucky for the love and stability you provide for them xx
ReplyDeletewell, said!
ReplyDeleteI am feeling the pain and the comfort of routine. I recently had an experience that has made me run and hide back into my quiet, sheltered routine. I am approaching the one year anniversary of my husbands death. I have kept my head down all this time, even from the time he was diagnosed.
ReplyDeleteI was recently asked to help with an art project. I was thrilled to help and to have something to look forward to when I woke up in the morning was wonderful. I was very excited to lend a hand and have an outlet. I cannot describe the enthusiasm I had for this project! What ended up happening was the man who asked me to help mistook my enthusiasm for the work as feelings for him. He ended up telling people that he believed I liked him and I ended up having to deal with him and end our new "friendship". I am so hurt and feel so disrespected. It only made me want to withdraw more than I already have. I feel more alone and sad. I feel like I will be spending another summer in hiding, trying to keep my kids involved with their friends and trying to hide myself at the same time. I hate this life!!!
Thank you for sharing your feelings, Amanda and Anonymous. The depth of emotion and grief for loss of one's beloved husband is nearly unfathomable for others, unless you have experienced it. My precious husband, the love of my life died September 16, 2010. I go through the motions of daily life, work and communicating with friends and family. They comment on how "well I am coping". I guess that's the ways to world perceives me, or at least wants to perceive me. The truth is much more complex...my emotions fluxuate through the day...sometimes coping, but effected by certain music, memories or photos...I notice that as I contemplate the upcoming date of my husband's death in mid September, tears are closer to the surface as I think of what we were doing on each of the days leading up to his passing. I wish you all, peace, comfort, understanding and love....
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