It’s been one of those seasons. I need a pep talk. 
News flash, world...I lost my mate, not my mind. 
My common sense, ability to problem solve, skill set has not diminished; in fact, each have grown. 
I suppose there will always be those who refuse to see me in that light, but lately I’ve felt like a “project.”  Let’s assume she needs this or that or she can’t possibly figure out her life without him. 
Of course, I miss sharing the weight; it’s hard and exhausting. And as I write, I don’t want to boast, but SELF, you don’t have to listen to those voices. You’ve saved lives, run departments, managed nearly seven years of upheaval! Don’t listen. Choose better...you are not a victim. 

I studied Kubler-Ross’s anecdotal study on the stages of grief in college back in the 70’s.  It was fresh theory on the then rarely explored topic of dying. Modern hospice was a new concept and medical professionals welcomed her insight.  To my knowledge, her research was based on the observation of the patient. I don’t know how much scientific study went into those left to grieve after a death. I’ve never been completely comfortable with the way her model has been interpreted, especially as assigned to bereavement. I don’t think her stages are linear (later in life she confirmed that same observation) or prescriptive. 
Now regarding her quote-I honestly don’t remember ever reading it until now, but find it her finest declaration. It’s the “whole again” with which I personally wrestle. Yesterday, I shared that I still felt like half of a union because I cannot figure out how to loosen the spiritual glue of “two becoming one.” Will I need that freedom to regain wholeness or am I truly richer with the imprint of this sacred past?  
At least, I’m naming my quandary. 

I’m just rambling today...fair warning.
My dear friend, Sandy, called yesterday from Arkansas. We met in Tuesday Bible Study years ago and it was “sister love” at first meeting.  Our conversations are honest and deep ( I don’t have a lot of patience with light talk these days.)  She encourages me  and holds me in the grip of prayer. Sister love.
Funny how one phrase will grab your soul. She mentioned the thought of feeling “half” and it framed my current thoughts as I stare down a new year without Rob.
I hate the word “widow” and I strive for “healthy whole being.”  But I’m still half.
Mark 10 describes the joining of husband and wife as “ the two shall become one.”  One.  And then death rips One apart. How can that be? There’s still oneness all over me, but death has divided us in two again; Rob’s solely staring at Jesus and I’m left over as a “one-spotted half,”  trying to fix my eyes on Him as well.
I told you I was rambling and now dreadfully overusing quotation marks . But honestly, how does one completely erase four decades of spiritual union to become singularly whole again?
So I wrestle...

I’m ushering in the new decade with my glass raised half empty. Actually, I’m barely able to raise it at all. Six years of living life alone has depleted me. I hear from other “spouseless” individuals that January is the worst month ever. The thought of another year of juggling bills, taxes, house maintenance is overwhelming; add another 12 months of trudging through aloneness, health concerns and the like and life can look pretty daunting. 
Before you run away, I do want to fill this glass with joy. I actually want it to spill over. Like many revving up their fitness routines, I resolve to recharge my emotional engine. It just takes a lot of determination and energy I currently lack. 
The holiday season was a wake up call. I discovered that a houseful of noise and chaos unearthed some unresolved trauma. For six years, there has been little noise in this house; everything is new and in place “ post-Harvey.” Silence and order is the new normal...and it’s safe! Stir the pot and fears bubble over. What if I have to pay for professional painters again? Will I be able to sell the house with nicks and bruises? I did not react to the sensory overload in a healthy manner: my chest hurt, I was bossy and I could not stop trying to put my quiet back together. Now I grieve for what I might have lost over Christmas. 
As much as I adore my children and grands, I’ve discovered I also need my own peer group for healthy balance...friends with similar journeys.  It’s just unproductive to share the ups and downs of unwanted single-hood with adult children. I think it terrifies them.
My eldest granddaughter shared with me her mother’s description of me: She’s awfully independent.” Interesting. Is that what it looks like? I accurately describe it as “in charge with no other option.” If they only knew...I’m often robotic, unsure, sometimes desperate. Six years full. 
Yet, I would like to raise my final 2020 glass with some of that newly found independence, dear granddaughter,  and throw in some new people. Adults please!