I wore Mary’s “Happy Happy Happy” t-shirt to yoga today. I got a couple compliments. I didn’t say, “Yeah, it was my wife’s.” I smiled, the words came to my lips, and I stopped. I would have been happy to share the guilty pleasure of watching Duck Dynasty with Mary and the boys and how she got all four of us Happy Happy Happy shirts. But these folks don’t know my story, or at least they don’t let on.
I don’t want to be a widower everywhere I go, or maybe not every damn day. But I am. I don’t always know how to communicate that. I’m not always ready to darken the mood and possibly ambush myself with memories.
I’ve met so many people and gone to so many new places this year that one would think I could have developed some kind of script. But it feels different each time. It gets me rambling (verbally or mentally) about the strange feelings of today set against the strange feelings of yesterday.
I don’t know if I have to get better at having secrets or more comfortable with sharing my story.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason