Living the Life I was Never Supposed to Have

I was struggling with irritation as I pulled wallpaper from my bathroom wall, and not just due to the fact that I was peeling aged pink flowers in sticky little strips. I was angry that I had to do it at all; fixing another house where we live without him. The most unreasonable logic kept running in my head –  I wouldn’t be struggling on this damn ladder, teasing off piece after tiny piece of flowered paper, if he hadn’t died. I can’t count how many times this kind of thought pops up into my head. 

This knee-jerk reaction doesn’t make any sense because it’s driven by pure emotion. And that driving force is the anger I haven’t really been able to shake since he passed six years ago.  Anger is so intertwined with my grief that it can be difficult to tease them apart. The sense that life has wronged me isn’t easy to let go, even though my loss has shown me much for which I’m truly grateful.

Regardless of all the good that I’ve found in my healing so far, I can’t deny that I am now living a life that I was never supposed to have. 

Sometimes this weighs me down with thoughts of what’s no longer mine. Other times it lifts me up with the fluid possibilities my future offers me. Swinging backwards and forwards makes me wonder if I’ll ever fully turn my attention to the gift of what’s ahead of me. 

Recently, I’ve realized that the balance of my years after he died have been spent lingering too long in the ache and anger of a past lost to me. Living in his town for so long without him has stalled me. For every great step I think I take, I have no choice but to return to the emptiness and anger that this place now represents. I’ve put myself in a holding patten, doing what I thought was best for the kids to keep their lives stable. The result is a subtle sickness that settles into my bones, making me tired and heavy.

I should be able to see the unfounded reaction that I’m having to a zip code, but these are emotions, not logical thoughts. Nothing is left for me here but hurtful memories and empty connections. Any good from this place can be boxed up and carried away. Anything that matters will live on somewhere else.

My kids have asked for the opportunity to move away so we can support their interests and needs as they grow into the amazing people they are becoming. I am so proud of the strength and heart I see in them both. They simply are my biggest source of hope. I ask them often if this decision is for them or for me. It has to be for all of us. As soon as we all understood that fact, it was like a streetlight flickered on a dark street, lighting a path that I didn’t know was there.

So I want to be thoughtful in leaving this place. I’ve got to collect up all the suffering I’ve been causing myself and leave it here so it can’t follow me when I go. The darkness will always part of me now, but the constant reinjury doesn’t have to be anymore. It must stay here.