Still her husband

A widower.  That should be my new status. So should I alter the title of my blog?  Yes, I am grieving but technically speaking I am not a husband anymore as Jen is no more, so the Grieving Husband name for my blog is a misnomer.

But what the heck. Grieving Widower sounds weird. To me at least. 

I am not yet ready to give up my badge of honour as Jenny’s husband. Jenny and I, we're an item. I have told her that many times in the past, sometimes in the presence of friends or my kids and watch her blush. She would frown and I could read her mind. You think we are still teen-agers? 

But she would not dispute that we were such a united couple, our two hearts beat as one and the trust between us was unquestionable.  I knew, quietly she was happy about it. Jenny does not speak her mind much but I could read her like a book.

So how else could I see myself other than belonging to her? I was proud and privileged to be her husband. And that has not changed with her passing on. Married, ineligible and already committed, that is how I still see myself. Have I got the space in my heart for someone else to fill in? Perhaps, one day and time will tell, but Jenny cannot be replaced.

So far, my life as a “single husband” has been an emotional roller-coaster.  In the company of good friends and with my kids, I have learned to laugh again. At the office, I could focus when work demands my undivided engagement and concentration. Most days were packed and left me drained, depriving me of the quiet time I would like to set aside each day to think of her.

But the longer I remained busy the more anxious I might get. I worry that I might lose my connection with her.  Fretfully the memories of our life together might get fainter, as I start forgetting how she laugh, gripe, walk and talk. It is only 4 months and a few days since she passed on. But memory of her is already getting blurry.  It is gradual loss but it is annoying. So I looked harder at her photographs whenever she pops up from my screensaver, and I gaze longer at her pictures hung on the wall. I need to strengthen the synaptic connections in my head.

Chief amongst my list of regrets is that I have not taken more videos of her. I have a small collection of home and holiday videos taken many years ago but the focus was always on the kids, tiny toddlers then. Jenny and I were mindful that they would grow up too quickly so recording those tender years and capturing all their precocious behaviour and childish blathering was the order of the day. There were only short traces of her in the video.

If only I could foresee that I would now be missing her so much. But how could I?  If I had then suggested to make a video solely of her to prepare for this day, she would have ticked me off. So you are so sure I would soon kick the bucket?

Sigh, we know better now, I suppose.

So my emotional mental state moves from high to low, over the week if not within a day. Like a roller coaster.  You would think that it makes sense to try and prolong the high and minimise the low.  

A colleague had recently asked why I had so often chosen to lunch out on my own.  I confided that I needed time out to be by myself. Would it not be more helpful to be engaged, amongst colleagues? Then I could take my mind off from my loss, she surmised. I did not expect her to understand me. Nor anyone who has not suffered such personal loss before. How do I explain to her what I am going through? That I actually do not want to avoid and run away from the pain. That keeping myself constantly busy and occupied with other things or other people provides only temporary relief.

Grief ebbs and flow like waves beating on the shore.  The mood is sombre, eyes are moistening and my heart grew heavy. Time now for this grieving husband to spend with his dear beloved wife.