I caught up on some yard work during the Indian Summer weather we were fortunate enough to have a few weeks ago. Pruned, replanted, tore out, weeded. Just basic yard maintenance stuff. I got pretty filthy and ended up with a few well-earned blisters on my hands. Nothing a good shower and a thorough scrubbing of my hands with Lava soap couldn't fix. And during that hand washing moment I noticed something. There, on my ring finger, is the still-obvious ridge of where my wedding ring used to be.
I took my ring off a year after Bill died. I wore it on a chain around my neck for a while. I had his band re-sized to fit on my right hand a week after he died. It will remain there. But I'm not sure why I took off my own gold band. Well, that's not totally true. I removed it as sort of an experiment, trying out how it would feel to be naked of that symbol after so many years. Probably a first step in living alone. Or at least a first step in that direction. There's a little more to this part of the story actually and I'm not up to telling it right now but trust me when I say that I took the ring off for the right reasons.
When I look at the indentation on my finger it makes me feel just how much being alone sucks.
Oh, I can be OK on most days. I don't mind getting up in the morning by myself because Bill was only home in the mornings on the weekends. There's nothing foreign to me about morning solitude. And I can be pretty much alright in the course of the afternoon too. I stay plenty busy at work or catching up at home. I even do reasonably OK in the evening hours because prior to his death Bill had worked a strange shift that brought him home at night around 11:00PM. Again, I was used to solitude in the evenings. But, oh the nighttime. Nighttime is a whole different story.
I don't think I will ever get used to it.
At the end of the day all the things I think of to talk about and no one here to listen to me. No one to plan for the future with. No one to dream up an adventure with. No one to "remember when" with. Hear a scary sound outside? I'm the one who has to check it out now. Make sure the fire is going, fill the coffee pot, set the mousetrap. All me now too.
Sometimes I let myself remember a boring, typical evening from before. But I quickly tuck it back away in my mind because the simple contentedness of such times makes my heart hurt. When I absentmindedly go to twirl the ring on my finger (nervous habit) and realize that it's no longer there I am flooded with regrets and self-pity and hopelessness. Funny how a little gold band (no diamonds for me--too high maintenance) can make me feel so helpless and sad. Claustrophobic about life and choices and the future.
This life I have right now is not the life I anticipated ever having to live. It is a far, far cry from the life we built together. My entire identity was woven with the threads of "us." I know that "letting go" is my only choice. But I just haven't quite figured out how to actually do that. How do you choose what parts to let go of and what parts should remain? Can any parts remain? Lots to think about.
Just a tiny indentation but it represents an entire world.
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