Travelling By Myself

For all of the years I was married, my husband drove us everywhere.  He made the decisions as to where we stopped and ate.  I loved it.  I relaxed.  I was fine with the lack of control because I felt very pampered.

Since his death, I am no longer spoiled and I drive everywhere by myself.  You may say I should have been doing this anyway – OK!  I find myself – especially on the six hour trip to my daughter’s house, looking at the things he marvelled at  – the escarpment at Milton, the traffic, the 407 and no we don’t need to spend money on that! Even the Tim Hortons buildings that we stopped at regularly have become places of memory and dread.  They trigger times of laughter and conversation that doesn’t happen now.   Even the loss of our 15 year old Lab 6 months before my husband comes back when I look at Timbits – since that was her special treat.

I play music, I cry.  If those truckers only knew how little I can see sometimes through my tears they would likely be willing to stay in that right  lane out of my way.

At least I am doing stuff since he died.  At least I am still alive.  At least I am not wishing he was here to see our new grandaughter sit up and eat solid food.  I was thinking for a long time that he was  missing this and that.  I don’t say that to myself much anymore.  I feel sorry for him that he cannot be here – we made a good life and he deserved time to enjoy it.

Learning how to live is getting easier.  Learning how to live happily is still out of my grasp so far.  Will that come? How?  Time?

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