This will not be my finest blog. I don’t think it’ll be very interesting. See, I have a hangover today. Oh, not that kind of hangover, I have an emotional one. Yesterday was a tough day for me. For some reason, the eight-week mark hit me harder than other markers. Maybe, the further away I get from his death date, I am reminded of how much further away I get from Peter. Not the memory of him, but the life of him. It’s as if, with each passing week of his death, I’m further away from when he lived, from when we lived as partners.
I also made a decision, one I’ll discuss in another blog when my mind is not all fogged up in the aftermath of an emotional bender. I will say this, it’s one I batted around for a while now. It wasn’t made last night, rather confirmed to the loved people in my life, and not all of them fully understood, maybe even supported, my decision. Sure, they absolutely supported me and will continue to do so without conditions, but they had concerns and I get it. I get them. I actually love them more for this. I feel they were brave and loving to express worry about me. I also feel my unexpected and unwanted role of a widow brought on all their concern which sucks, but I understand. Believe me, I know, really know, it all comes from a place of love and I am blessed to have that love. I also love my friend, Beth, who understood my decision without any additional explanation. I love them all.
And before you think what business is it of their’s, let me tell you I opened myself up for comments by sharing my decision. And I asked. If I ask, I’ll get an answer, and not always the one I want. Yet I kind do, want their opinions, even if they’re dissenting or made me question, since I needed to weigh both sides of it. This did teach me decisions in my new widow role aren’t going to be understood by everyone, yet I have to make them anyway. It’s all part of my growth. I think everyone gets that and will be there no matter the outcome. (Now you’re probably intrigued by the decision. I’ll get there…tomorrow.)
I also received some of Peter’s benefits yesterday. What a relief that was. Now one door close. One less room I have to repeat Peter’s death story into. One less room of holding it together for the people inside. One less room I have to fight to close the door. One less is what it’s all about in this crazy fight of paperwork.
The benefits are not about money. I would lie if I said it didn’t help. It does. Peter was the primary breadwinner. But I know, the farther away I got from my initial shock and what the hell do I do now, I know I would have figured it out. I have skills. I have the means. The hardest thing with me figuring it out would have been giving up writing, or most of it. It’s hard to work full-time and write. It would be like having two jobs. Writing is a job, people. And while I may have been able to do both – I did for a while back – this weary, grieving fifty-seven year old would have been spent. Something would have to give and it would have been writing. Writing is a huge part of me and I already had so much of me ripped away when Peter died. Taking away writing would have left me invisible. So getting some of the benefits is about closure and keeping an important part of my definition and I am relieved to have gotten some yesterday. Whew!
Okay, well that’s about it. See, I told you it was a boring blog. I’m going to pour some tea into me, take some Tylenol (grief does manifest through achy bones) and get on with my day. Thanks for reading.