I don't know what I am doing. But I do know that I played the game of learning to love myself already. I lived in a cabin in the Maine woods, walking away from all the family and friends that didn't believe in me, that treated me like crap. I kept busy chopping kindling, working at the nursery school, volunteering at the battered women's shelter, belonging to a couple groups on campus, and helping my English Prof and friend through some hard times. I watched a LOT of movies, read often, learned to cross country ski (sort of), and got very good at going out alone taking my book and notebook for company. I know I love myself. And I will NOT believe that the universe or god or whatever took John's life to teach me something. He was more than that, by FAR. Annoyingly, I also believe that I do have the chance to learn something from his loss, so that means I have to examine it, pick it over, allow all the bad choices, the good ones, the pain, anger, confusion, loneliness...I have to let it wash over me. I have to allow some wallowing because I cannot learn if I don't dig into it. That is how my brain works, like it or not.
And this new revelation, I don't like it. I feel like on most levels, perhaps not all of them, I have to accept that I will likely BE alone forever, raising three kids by myself. I'm sorry, but that is mind numbing. I know that people do it, and sometimes they even do an amazing job of it. But, and I'm whining here, I don't want to! This was supposed to be a JOINT VENTURE, these children, this life. My minister told me that it made sense I was a mess even before John died, because I was mourning the life that we should have/could have had. Yes. And now I have that to mourn as well as his presence. We watched Eddie Izzard together and laughed our asses off, over and over. We watched all the comic book superhero movies together, we were a powerhouse in the bedroom, we fought about laundry and house cleaning, we traveled and dreamed of traveling more. He understood that I am a mess and needy and scared and strong and smart and independent all at the same time. He always wanted to snuggle. He held my hand. He learned to call me "Honey". He often remembered to call me "Kitten" like my mom used to- my favorite pet name. I melted when he did that.
I can talk to almost anyone. But getting close is another matter. I have learned to understand a lot of my baggage, but I still have it. And it is incredibly annoying and daunting to think about acquainting someone else with all of it. Not to mention learning theirs!
And so it goes.
"... desperate craving for simplicity sure can create complications. And ... pitiful longing for certainty sure can make things unsteady." — Tom Robbins