I love Capt, and Himself. Is it possible to have enough room in your heart for two men? Sure it is! Do you love one child less because you have another one? No! Your heart grows to accommodate them all. That's not to say I'm poly-whatever. No. One at a time, thankyouverymuch. They both filled particular places, for a specific amount of time.
After Himself's passing on, I was pretty sure I'd want to get married again. I loved being a wife. It was an enormous part of my identity. Having a companion, someone to talk to, do things with, bounce ideas off of, all that....it's important to me.
However (tell me you didn't see that coming), I'm not so sure This Time, that I want to do it again. Capt was an enormous presence. I love and miss him terribly. I'm not so sure I want to do this again. Why is that? you might ask.
I'll tell you why. I'm not sure I can. I can't lose someone again. Not like this. Not the person who means so very much to me. I just...can't. Even if it means being on my own in this house and not having someone with whom I can do all the things. It's too complicated, too painful, too...everything.
Even though I know, from experience, that I won't collapse and crumble and be helpless, I also know that...good Lord, this is hard. Right now, I simply cannot imagine risking putting myself through this sort of thing yet AGAIN.
I might change my mind. I know that. I'm prone to it. But right now, it's a hard NO. I can be useful in lots of other ways. I can find my identity in my relationship with God. I'm working hard on that bit right now. I can work on my friendship skills. Maybe I can even (somehow) figure out how to use my experiences (plural! Ugh!) as a widow to benefit other women going through similar situations.
As I told my PT, Brooke, yesterday, This Time (UGH!) I'm regaining my equilibrium a lot quicker than Last Time. I'm breathing and eating already. It's been a month and 9 days since Capt moved on. It took 6 months+ to do that after Himself passed.
Ok so that thought led my ADD brain (SQUIRREL!) to this thought...how many euphemisms does our American lexicon have for the act of Dying. Passed on, passed away, Heavenly Reward, all ways to avoid that kind of ugly word: Death.
Saying Death kind of implies an absolute finality. Gone. Poof. No more. I don't believe that's what happens. Lots of anecdotal evidence to the contrary. There's a couple of places they go. One we don't like to think about because it's ugly and no one wants someone they love to end up there. The other is kind of the Ultimate Destination. Better than any place a cruise ship could take you. So we say Passed On, because they've Passed On to there. Some people will say Transitioned. Or Left This Earth. That's kind of how I like to think about it. They've left behind the flawed body and uncomfortable ways of this world, and transitioned into their heavenly and perfected lives. It's certainly a more comfortable way of thinking about it, in my opinion. Our earthly body is this imperfect container we use for a while, because God saw fit to stick us in it while we figure things out .
That's not where I intended to go when I started this post. That's why I used a different font...because it's an aside.
Anyway. Brooke and I talked about that for a bit, about finding someone Else. I'll know when or if it's Time. About 2-1/2 years after Himself passed away, passed on, met his Heavenly Reward, *ahem*....died...I felt like I was ready to find someone to be my new person. I also knew that I'd eventually want a new person, but wasn't going to push it right away. I needed to start breathing and functioning first. Well, I'm breathing and beginning to function now, but the idea of a new person in my life is unpleasant and causes my brain to say "are you KIDDING me? NO!" So I am choosing to operate with the idea that it will be just me, in the future.
Kind of like...sometimes when you buy a house, you think about resale value (stick with me here...there's a point), and you decorate it in ways that are easy to fix up and make universally appealing. And sometimes, you get a house knowing that you're probably going to be here for good, so you fix it up in the ways that work for YOU, even if you know it's not anyone else's cup of decorative tea. I'm gong to fix my (literal and figurative) house up the way I want it. Quirks and all. I'm going to use those ornate cast iron shelf brackets even though someone else might think WHY. The cabinet is going to get a lick of paint in the color I want, and by golly the lace is getting the boot. I'm going to wear what I like, even if it's a vintage 1970's Pendleton vest and a pair of Lee jeans and some hiking boots.
After Himself, and now Capt, passed on, met his Heavenly Reward, *ahem*...died, I continued and continue to live in ways that he, and he wanted, approved of, expressed opinions on. After all, those are the clothes in the closet and the foods on the pantry shelf. But you know what? I HATE MIXED VEGETABLES. You know the kind...the frozen ones in the bags and all the veggies taste exactly the same. YUCK. AND....I HATE CHICKEN BREASTS. They're bland and dry and gross. That's the only kind of chicken both Himself and Capt wanted. I'd fix breasts for them and thighs for me. There's a pile of chicken breasts in the freezer. I'll use them up in soups.
All that said, part of really loving someone is being willing to compromise. They made plenty of compromises for me. All over the place, they did. I know that, and I'm grateful. It's the nature of a good relationship, a balance.
Now I don't really have to do that much. Not in the minutia of a household life. I don't have to keep chicken breasts and mixed vegetables. I can use ornate cast iron, wear hiking boots and flannel shirts without commentary, and take the long way to get anywhere. I can park badly, run out of oranges, and leave a box of books in the middle of the living room floor. If I smack my toe against it, it's my fault. It's taking me some time to realize that, to be able to watch Dr. Pimple Popper without listening to the little voice that says "be ready to change the channel, you know how gross he thinks that is." (EW, Peggy...WHY do you watch that?? Because I like to see people's lives transformed. They go from shame and embarrassment to confidence and relief)
All that said, those are all things I'd gladly shelve if it meant he were back on the couch, planning our next trip to the Keys, or discussing what kind of bookcase to put where, or requesting a chicken pot pie made with breasts and mixed vegetables.
Its funny how don't cuts of chicken mean much, in the grand scheme of it all.
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