It's Not That Hard...

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They lied. It's not so hard having no reason to get up in the morning. I can stay in bed, under the influence of sleeping tablets and sleep all day. There is no need to think about him because I've drugged myself past all that. It's not so hard feeling free to leave the house. The tough part is to stop looking at my watch and not panic when an hour has passed. The really tough part is not knowing where to go and what to do once I'm out. It's not so hard knowing he's not here. The hard part is constantly looking at where his hospital bed used to be and wondering why I can't bring myself to fill the space with anything else. Or to stop calling the pharmacy to see if his medications are ready when he no longer needs them. It wasn't so hard, okay maybe it was, letting the men from the crematorium take his body. The really hard part was receiving the ashes in a tiny box,to try and understand that the physical man I loved, who gave me children, who laughed and cried with me, who held me through the tough times and celebrated the good could fit in that tiny black box. It wasn't hard to accept the condolences of friends and relatives once I got past the crying. The worst part was when they hugged me and it felt strange because it should have been his arms around me. Theirs held no comfort. It wasn't so hard laughing for the first time after he was gone. The hard part was the guilt that ripped through me and brought the laughter to hoarse sobs wracking my body. Getting rid of his clothes. Easy, once I screamed at him "You left me! Why did you leave me? You promised to be with me well into old age. I tried, oh, my God, I tried to make you better, but you died anyway. Why did you have to go?" The hard part was watching my children's faces as I ranted at their dead father, screaming in pain at a loss I never wanted to come. After that they took over sorting and getting rid of his belongings, so see, it wasn't that hard. Getting over him being with his Heavenly Father wasn't that hard. Giving him up completely to his Heavenly Father was hell, necessary, but hell. Listening for him to call me at night, hearing nothing, but waking anyway, that was hard. Being a good mother for my children wasn't hard. It was impossible after my heart was ripped out on April 25,2012 when my husband gave up his long fight. Thankfully, they waited patiently for my mothering instincts to rise once more. Deciding what to do with his ashes wasn't hard. He loved the ocean and all the life there. He will become part of a new reef bringing new life to the Gulf of Mexico. The hard part is knowing I will not be there with him, to visit him. So, you see,they, the mysterious 'they' lied. Losing a loved one is not hard. Continuing to live without them, that's the hard part. For awhile you believe you died, too. Then the searing guilt for even thinking about doing anything other than cry for them renders you into rags. Anger strips you of any dignity and sadly, rips it from him, too. Depression takes over from the anger and drags you to the point you care about nothing and no one around you; you want the peace he reached. My dad found the strength through his depression over Mom dying to take his own life. I hope I find the strength to live, gather my babies close and spread the love I had and have for their father over them. No, it's not hard losing my husband. It is a challenge living without him. Have you had this challenge to keep living whether you want to or not?