One of those days
I'm still thinking about the dream I had last night--the one where I got to see my husband pass again. Horrible. So today I'm thinking about death and why we live. I know I'm here to do the Lord's work. But I don't fear death. Not used to that. I suppose if my life were in jepordy, I would change my mind on that. But right now, day to day, death is a promise, a time when I can be reunited with everyone I lost.
My cousin died last week. I say died because according to the bible, his life is over. He was not saved, so his death hit me very hard. Found myself thinking, here I am, just waiting to go, and instead of me, my dear cousin goes. He was the same age as me, so it's strange. Memories of playing with him, talking with him for hours. We used to be like brother and sister, but time and reality separated us.
It's six months since DH passed, and I've been breathing for the most part. I don't have my usual human support. Moms gone and DH gone, so there is no one to get me through this. I rely on God for that. But sometimes I long to just have someone to talk to. Someone who understands, a warm hand to help me through the worst of this. It should be my dad, but he's been more of a hinderance than a help. So I'm alone. Even the dog is gone, just three months after my husband. Most of the time it's just me and the bird and I get to go to work. Work is my sanity. I can't break down there, so I'm used to holding in the tears.
I'm fat. Food has become my friend. I can't cook because I want to cook for two, not one, so I eat fast food even though I hate it. I love to sit in restaurants, reading books about people worse off then me. I take comfort in knowing they're fictional. I read autobiographies on famous people who've endured the unberable. They give me courage. My life is so easy compared to them. Six months, and I'm still fighting to enjoy myself. Fighting to still find purpose in life. Fighting to figure out why I look forward to coming home everyday. Yesterday the boss told me I could leave early if I want. I stayed, alone with 7 of my other coworkers. Strange, maybe they don't have a life either. We sit and talk for hours, then I finally do leave 30 minutes early.
I picked up a sign saying "Beware of Dog" I don't have one, which makes it all the more reason to have a sign. People want to hurt widows sometimes and I'm aware that there's no man to protect me now. Maybe I should take a self-defense class, but I'm old, feeling my age right now. I just don't care to spend an evening pretending to be Mrs. Peel. The dog sign will have to do.
I hate feeling vulnerable, but there it is.
Dad told me he'd like for me to marry again one day. I tell him no way. No way am I losing another husband. Most women are widows. Men are lucky in that regard.
DH spent another day in Heaven. I've spent another day in Hell.
That's it for my probably incoherent rant.
My cousin died last week. I say died because according to the bible, his life is over. He was not saved, so his death hit me very hard. Found myself thinking, here I am, just waiting to go, and instead of me, my dear cousin goes. He was the same age as me, so it's strange. Memories of playing with him, talking with him for hours. We used to be like brother and sister, but time and reality separated us.
It's six months since DH passed, and I've been breathing for the most part. I don't have my usual human support. Moms gone and DH gone, so there is no one to get me through this. I rely on God for that. But sometimes I long to just have someone to talk to. Someone who understands, a warm hand to help me through the worst of this. It should be my dad, but he's been more of a hinderance than a help. So I'm alone. Even the dog is gone, just three months after my husband. Most of the time it's just me and the bird and I get to go to work. Work is my sanity. I can't break down there, so I'm used to holding in the tears.
I'm fat. Food has become my friend. I can't cook because I want to cook for two, not one, so I eat fast food even though I hate it. I love to sit in restaurants, reading books about people worse off then me. I take comfort in knowing they're fictional. I read autobiographies on famous people who've endured the unberable. They give me courage. My life is so easy compared to them. Six months, and I'm still fighting to enjoy myself. Fighting to still find purpose in life. Fighting to figure out why I look forward to coming home everyday. Yesterday the boss told me I could leave early if I want. I stayed, alone with 7 of my other coworkers. Strange, maybe they don't have a life either. We sit and talk for hours, then I finally do leave 30 minutes early.
I picked up a sign saying "Beware of Dog" I don't have one, which makes it all the more reason to have a sign. People want to hurt widows sometimes and I'm aware that there's no man to protect me now. Maybe I should take a self-defense class, but I'm old, feeling my age right now. I just don't care to spend an evening pretending to be Mrs. Peel. The dog sign will have to do.
I hate feeling vulnerable, but there it is.
Dad told me he'd like for me to marry again one day. I tell him no way. No way am I losing another husband. Most women are widows. Men are lucky in that regard.
DH spent another day in Heaven. I've spent another day in Hell.
That's it for my probably incoherent rant.
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