My first normal day
Woke up. Watched a little television. Put together my new bird cage. Went shopping. Talked to dad. Picked up something to eat. Ordered food from a restaurant. Washed my hair. Wrote a few pages of a new story I'm working on.
At 10:30 I realized that it felt normal. It didn't feel forced. It wasn't about being happy or sad.
I hadn't thought about this before, but before DH passed, I didn't spend my days asking myself if I was happy or sad. Days, months, and years passed as just normal days. Some parts of it brought happiness. Some sadness. But widowhood changed that. It was as if I was analyzing every feeling I had. Breaking apart each day into a sort of happiness scale. Rating the parts as if they were songs on American Bandstand. It's not the way most of us live, but I think most widows/widowers do. And maybe that's the problem. It's almost like we're forcing ourselves to be happy. And when we're not, we feel inadequate, and that leads to depression about the state of our lives.
I can't speak for everyone, but I found myself doing things to bring happiness as if it were something that could be ordered. I structured my day for happiness--Maybe if I shopped for a new dress. Maybe if I lost a few pounds. Maybe if I bought a new pet. And at the end of it I would still end up sad because none of this could bring my husband back.
Then today happened. A day with no expectations. A day that was not analyzed down to the molecular level. It was just a day. And at the end of it: I feel normal.
Maybe that's what it's all about.
At 10:30 I realized that it felt normal. It didn't feel forced. It wasn't about being happy or sad.
I hadn't thought about this before, but before DH passed, I didn't spend my days asking myself if I was happy or sad. Days, months, and years passed as just normal days. Some parts of it brought happiness. Some sadness. But widowhood changed that. It was as if I was analyzing every feeling I had. Breaking apart each day into a sort of happiness scale. Rating the parts as if they were songs on American Bandstand. It's not the way most of us live, but I think most widows/widowers do. And maybe that's the problem. It's almost like we're forcing ourselves to be happy. And when we're not, we feel inadequate, and that leads to depression about the state of our lives.
I can't speak for everyone, but I found myself doing things to bring happiness as if it were something that could be ordered. I structured my day for happiness--Maybe if I shopped for a new dress. Maybe if I lost a few pounds. Maybe if I bought a new pet. And at the end of it I would still end up sad because none of this could bring my husband back.
Then today happened. A day with no expectations. A day that was not analyzed down to the molecular level. It was just a day. And at the end of it: I feel normal.
Maybe that's what it's all about.
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