Usually in response to something I do not "normally" do.
Or someone I would not "normally" hang out with.
Like "In my real life, I would not run a 5K but..."
And I was having lunch with a friend today where I found myself saying it again.
For me, it almost feels like this "situation" is not my real life.
It can't be, right?
I mean, in my real life I am married.
In my real life, I would never run a 5K.
In my real life, I would not date a 22 year old boy.
But I have to keep reminding myself, this is my real life.
This is what I have now.
It reminds me of being dealt a whole new set of cards like in poker.
I have played out my old set of cards. This is a new round.
Those old cards no longer exist.
So I must play these new set of cards versus thinking my old set will come back.
But it is so hard.
This feels still so much like a dream.
Like I am going to wake up to my "real life."
I am in a pretend world for now but real life is waiting.
Like I am enjoying this for now but Roger is somewhere else.
Unfortunately, this is real life.
This is the real deal.
The mistakes I make now are real.
The good things that happen are real.
Not fake.
Not pretend.
This is it, Star.
This is real.
This is your life.
1 comment:
It probably took at least a year or two--if not more--before the reality of my "new" life finally sunk in. I remember at 6 months out waiting for "reality" to set it, to finally really "get" that Charley was dead and never coming back. And in all honesty, it probably took 2-3 years before that portion of the realization to sink in. At 6 months out, the "reality" that hit me was that, crap, this grief was real. This shit really was my life now.
It sucks when you start feeling like that. I *still* have bouts of "in my real life" vertigo, even at almost 4 years out, where I simply can quite comprehend how this happened, how the last 4 years really occurred, how he really and truly is dead and will never, ever come back.
Those moments still suck when I have them, but thankfully they're not nearly as overwhelming as they were in the first year post-widowhood. Hang in there. It'll get better eventually, I promise.
Hugs,
Candice
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