Have recently been talking to a couple of women, whose long, seemingly happy marriages, ended when their husbands cheated.
And then their ex-husbands died.
Their second time around, disenfranchised grief. Both say they are feeling it again, but that this grief hits differently. The cheating/leaving grief was never “final,” and this time is very confusing.
I can imagine. I have thought about this. A lot. I know I would struggle if Rog died. Whilst I know “closure” is a load of bollocks, there has been no “closure.” I always imagined we’d talk. Be close. Know each other. And take some comfort in that.
But I’m still completely heartbroken, wrenched from my love and life, through the actions and choices of others.
I lost my soulmate. My confidante. I don’t have another person in my life that I have no filter with.
Despite all the crap, he was my person. And I miss having a person.
I accept that.
But death? I just don’t know.
I do know that I am still waaaay too affected by him. I do know that him moving so far away was amazing for my mental health and healing. I do know that contact drives me off the rails of this healing journey.
I do know that being in the same room as him has pierced my healing aura. Disrupted the force!
I do know that I have, stashed away in storage, a mountain of love letters and cards from him. Love bombing words. From the very beginning of us, in the mid-80s. Raving about how wonderful, sexy, beautiful I am. Lol. Yeah, right. I imagine he saw a frumpy, old woman in me the other night.
I also know that I either couldn’t look at him, or I looked right through him. I don’t even know which it was. It was like an out of body experience. Except the experience has left more scars on and in my body.
I hoped he saw steel. Strength.
Because, I am different. Different from the soft, loving girl he knew.
I am a new woman. Forged from that trauma. The trauma he kept inflicting.
But maybe he just saw my brokenness.
It matters not. I’m trying to just get normal transmission to resume
Whatever that is.