Today, it is seven months without Peter, and yesterday, I had a closure. An annoyance that circled my head for months was finally shot down. The civil lawsuit was officially closed. The details aren’t important, nor, surprisingly, do I want to share them. Suffice to say, I signed on the line and it was done. It had to be done. I wanted it done. And yet when it was, when the ‘i’ over Elizabeth was dotted, and the period in my middle initial landed on the paper, I felt empty, drained, sad, and lonely.
From the beginning of this nightmare, all I wanted were doors to close so I can get on with my life without him. I thought, settling things down around me would help me rise without tripping. And, well, I thought wrong. Instead of rising, I shatter with every shut door, leaning against them like a toddler trying to stand up right. Tears come from a deep place where loneliness and anger and disappointment and longing hang around. Emotions I battle with every day, every moment, become victorious with each closure and I am become their flattened victim.
It’s hard to say exactly why I feel the way I do. Maybe with each conclusion, I come to a closer reality of Peter’s death. Maybe his finality become very real and fear of further distance away from him haunts me. Maybe each one weakens an already exhausted spirit with knowing I must continue on without him, something I feel too weak to do at times. Maybe all of it.
And please, if you want to say it’s all so new yet, please, swallow it. I know it’s still all new, probably better than you. I know getting a weary body to the one mile mark in a twenty-five mile race does not mean anything. No one has to remind me. And really, what you think is a comfort is not as it doesn’t diminish the pain and exhaustion. It actually adds to both. Knowing there is so much more ahead of me with little behind, even with closures overwhelms and destroys me at times.
The closure yesterday pushed my face, yet again, into a reality without Peter. I go along every day knowing this, yet sometime, like yesterday, I am grabbed by the heart to see it up close and personal. I am so close, I see my future without him, my tomorrows played out before me without Peter, with the emptiness of him, with the loneliness of my solo act. And the pain from it all is too hard to hold back, and so I don’t, because that’s not who I am nor will ever be. Some people get it. Some people are tired of hearing about it. Some people just want to fix it. Most people don’t know what to say or do with it. And I understand them all.
I am surprised every day on how well I am navigating in life. I told my lawyer yesterday I didn’t think I would be out of bed, let alone moving, seven months ago. I thought of myself as a dependent, weak-ish, woman who’s reliance on, and passion for, Peter had me saying over and over to him ‘I better die before you because I couldn’t live without you’. But Life, Death, had other plans and here I am.
There is a part of me so dominant it won’t let me give up. It is a part I always carried with me, but never needed it, never wanted to need it. It is a part that rose to the top when my life unraveled. It is a part who whispers ‘it’s okay, you got this, or says “nope, not doing that’. It is a part who sometimes yells at me to get up and move. And it is a part now telling me, at this seven month mark without Peter and with another door closed, ‘you’ve survived now let’s figure out how to live’.
Today at the seven month period, with yesterday’s closure still rippling through me, I am feeling my feels. I will eventually push myself off and live again. And I know this because I look back and see all the examples of my ability to do just that behind me. And I know another one will be made soon. For now though, I’m going to lean on this closed door, take a few beats, and gear myself up for yet another mile on this reluctant journey I am on.