I don't recognize that 26 year-old girl I was when I was first widowed. I hurt for her, my heart breaks for her. My greatest fear is having the same pain invade my world again.
5 years later, I can honestly say that I'm doing okay. Life does go on, and you have no choice to continue. I also have a wonderful daughter who keeps me firmly in the here and now. A few days ago, she asked me how her father died. I explained as simply as I could that there had been an accident. There is time for the gruesome details later. For now, I'm glad that he is part of her life.
The time immediately following his death was spent surviving. Merely existing. I breathed because my body told me to. My heart pumped because it does it on its own. I ate because the baby inside me required me to. I slept because my weary body collapsed at night. Eventually, though, you begin to once again appreciate the green of the grass, your child's laugh, the taste of an ice cream cone. You once thought you'd never LIVE again, but you do overcome.
