... when I'm just me, on my own.
Rediscovering, you might think. Perhaps, but not entirely. I have had very little time on my own in my 74 years, so whoever I was back then, I'm bound to be different now. The me I am discovering can't help but be formed in large part by the 20 years with Andrew as well as everything else that went before.
Then, I suppose there is a me that's always there, some core self which is not altered by the events of my life. (The poet is part of that core, I'd say: a constant, through everything, since I was a young child.) But I think the core and the external events — or at least the effects of them — all get mixed in together to make up what I experience as me.
And there are now the 18 months of widowhood too, and the changes and adjustments they have brought. I still tend to think as though everything stopped when he died. I want to speak of 'the last 20 years' of being married to him, as though the 18 months since had not even happened.
But they have happened, and they have been shaping me too, as the months ahead will also do. I know now which things may trigger sobs, and which probably won't. I've learned how to shop and cook for one. I have found out that there are things I do and don't want to eat now that I'm pleasing only myself, which are not quite as before. As there are shows I do or don't want to watch, and so on. Some preferences are just the same as before, but others are quite different.
I'm learning how I like to spend my time. Again, in many respects that's the same as ever, but not always.
My friends are my friends forever, but some I see less often now and some I see more of; just the way it's panning out.
It's been gradual, and it's still evolving, but I'm beginning to get a sense of this new me.
Interesting that the poet is always a part of you, Rosemary. I'd never thought of it like that, but I suppose it's the same as for an artist. Poetry has never come naturally to me. Strange, our respective makeups, aren't they?
ReplyDeleteYes, even people with a lot in common are very individual.
DeleteYou sound like you are adjusting- must be hard. Have a good day!
ReplyDeleteI believe if we live our life through the eyes of a poet, everyday is summer! Good luck to you, and keep moving forward, it's all we can do. I've also found that keeping up with friends is a two way street, and one that can easily be joined.....!
ReplyDeletesounds great; have a nice weekend
ReplyDeletemuch love...
Well, I am so sorry for the loss of your hubby. I know it must be so different to cook for one, along with everything else...but it sounds like you are adjusting nicely. God Bless You...and have a Happy Saturday!
ReplyDeleteMany thanks to all for your understanding.
ReplyDeleteI think it would be a wonderful time to write about your years with Andrew. A writer suggested that I keep a journal with the years on each chapter and as the memories come I can write about them
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for this suggestion! I had been wondering ho to tackle that, and you've just told me. :)
DeleteThese thoughts intrigued me, though somehow I could understand--"I still tend to think as though everything stopped when he died. I want to speak of 'the last 20 years' of being married to him, as though the 18 months since had not even happened."
ReplyDeleteA weird trick my mind plays on me.
DeleteAre you discovering an appreciation of solitude and noticing the differences between alone and lonely?
ReplyDeleteI think there are so many benefits to being single ~ sounds like you are discovering them.
Yes. I am not lonely as such. I am sometimes lonely for him, but not for just anyone to keep me company. I have always liked my own company. Perhaps this is the great advantage of being an introvert, lol.
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