Whose Life Is This?

Last week I took my first trip since Art died. I went North to see our kids—all 4 of them together for the first time since Art's memorial service. It didn't seem right getting on that plane without him, and it didn't seem right being there with our kids without him. It was a "whirlwind" visit and I had a good time, but it was bitter sweet. Much of the time I felt like I was on the outside looking in at someone else's life. It couldn't possibly be my life.

I had been warned that coming back to this empty house would be difficult; and it was. Although I've been back home for several days, I still haven't been able to shake the feeling that this isn't my life. This isn't the way it was supposed to be. I know it's all part of the grieving process and I know it will get better with time, but that doesn't make it any easier right now.

A couple of weeks ago I received an email from someone I'd worked with about 20 years ago. I've seen her two or three times since then and we have communicated via email sporadically. It had been at least a year since I'd heard from her, so she didn't know about Art's illness or his death. Needless to say, she was shocked by the news. "I had always figured you two would just live into old age together," she  wrote." So did I.