After riding the long wave of December, attempting to conquer unwanted anniversaries created by cancer, staring down the empty places at family celebrations, and trying too hard to convince the world-or just me-that life solo is not so bad, I’ve entered the new year depleted. Weeks filled with couple events, watching love unfold like a Hallmark card, takes its toll. It’s the same every January, since Rob’s death. The first days ring extremely difficult; I’m emotionally exhausted and my glass threatens half-empty. The thought of living through another year without Rob once again looms large and heavy. It’s a complicated train track...I feel myself gracefully moving forward in this new locomotion, yet fully aware that I still long for life on the opposite track, life as a wife, lover, constant companion. And I can’t jump track.
It’s another year living apart from family. Oh, I explore the options of relocating once again, but practicality and fiscal responsibility win the battle.
Again, this isn’t the life I planned, so January brings again the arduous task of realigning my desires and expectations with present reality...and it’s hard and lonely and messy.
I look ahead, set goals, surrender to the things I cannot change, but I’m keenly aware that life is forever different and the future...well, it’s still out there somewhere in the fog.
January is a messy, mysterious co-existence of joy and grief -yes, the two can travel together.
And February always comes...
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