Reinventing Myself

My life has been shattered, I don’t know who I am anymore, all I know is that day has arrived, and I am now a widow.

Photo by Warren on Unsplash

I am standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window at the clouds in the sunrise. I just poured myself a glass of fresh ginger tea. My thoughts on the fresh ginger, cut and boiled, made with love, to soothe the stomach.

I am taken back to the kitchen of The Hope Lodge in Phoenix, Arizona, and our first trip there. It’s where I learned to make fresh ginger tea. The ginger helps to settle nausea from chemotherapy and radiation.

A tear streaks down my cheek as I long to be back in that kitchen. I long to go back and hug Tom again, tell him I love him, again. The day I could see in my future without him has arrived. Even though I tried to prepare for it, nothing could have prepared me for it.

Sitting in the kitchen of the Hope Lodge, eating a meal I prepared for us. Other cancer patients and their caregivers are at the other tables. I look at Tom, I wonder how long I have left with him, I remind myself again to cherish every single moment. I want to have hope. I want a cure so we will have many years left together. I am afraid of being blindsided though, so the fear of losing him is always there, looming in the back of my mind; anticipatory grief is my new shadow.

Now my morning coffee is just for me. Meals for one are often fast food now. I talk to myself all the time, I talk to Luna, and I talk to Tom. Nights are long and lonely. Our bed is so big and empty, his spot like a glaring open wound. I go through the motions day after day, not living, merely existing.

I am trying though, I journal and I meditate every single morning. I say positive affirmations. I set goals, I have a vision board that I look at every single day, and I pray. I ask God to help me with this pain, to help me to find fun again, to find a spark of joy, anything to make my time on this earth better.

My goals are filled with ways to make new friends, and ways to find the fun in life again. I put myself out there time and time again, yet at my age making friends seems impossible. Things that should be fun just aren't. There isn’t an instruction manual on how to start over after you lose your person.

All I know is I am at a vast crossroads, my life can go in a multitude of directions depending on my choices. The grief and depression have me sitting in chronic indecisiveness, hours and hours of binge-watching Netflix. The morning routine has me promising myself once again, that today will be different.

I finish the ginger tea as the sun reaches higher in the sky. I look at Luna napping in her cat tree. I tell myself happiness is a choice. I speak out loud, “Today I am happy, today is going to be a great day” and I try to believe it as I get ready for another day alone.