Delaware Dad

It is almost three years since I lost Mary. Two days ago the TV digital date read “12 February.” I never had a need to set it correctly and now it’s reminding me of the upcoming anniversary.

And now a friend sends me pictures from January 30th, the day Mary first felt ill.

One of my dearest friends also lost her husband on this day, four years ago.

All here to remind me of the worst two weeks I have known. Two weeks that exploded in my brain, shattering who I thought I was.

Worst and best? How would I know myself so well now if I hadn’t had my mind dashed against the rocks, destroying the roles I had substituted for Self. How would I have this journey and a clear path to ever deepening self awareness without all that pain?

There’s a story I can’t find. A story I could swear my dad told me as a child that he doesn’t recall. It’s a story of a petulant god who went to his mistress, whining about having nothing with which to entertain himself. The powerful mistress smashed him into pieces and launched them toward Earth saying, “Go find yourself.” The pieces became the first humans.

This, apparently fake, story lodged in my brain. I wasn’t connecting with people for a long time. I connected deeply with Mary and then that connection was demolished. I started to reach out to people, largely out of loneliness. Mary and I communicated and shared with each other constantly, exchanging messages throughout our days. I felt that missing part of my life the hardest, at first. I connected with people from my past, strangers, and widows. It took time, but I realized that my loneliness wasn’t driven by fear of being alone, but by a love for other people.

Now, I’m much more comfortable with creating relationships and letting go of expectations. I embrace what is and allow what will be to come. I value each connection and see it as one step closer to wholeness.