Whereas I do not want to start quantifying my life with the numbers of days I have been a widow, I still find myself staring at the calendar and comparing my life to then and now. I guess it will be a slow transformation to my new life.
I fell a couple weeks ago, in my home. I was simply walking down the steps toward the front door. My foot hit the last step, my ankle violently turned outward, I heard a crack and went flying. The pain was excruciating. I laid on my back writhing in agony, screaming. It was at that precise moment I realized how alone I really was. Sure, my kids all live relatively close. Absolutely, I have wonderful neighbors who will come at a moment's notice. But, I was alone. I am alone.
I did have my phone in my pocket and as soon as I was able to 'get a grip', I called Allison who came flying over, picked me up, and carried me to the car. Dx: Sprained ankle, 2 broken bones in my foot. I'll live. I am 3 weeks into recovery. I am still wearing a God-awful massive boot on my left foot. I am walking with the aid of a cane. I have slowed my pace considerably. Hmm, I wonder if a 'kindly spirit' was trying to get me to slow down all along? I did ignore the other warning: Getting stopped by a State Trooper on the Garden State Pkwy going 88 mph. So who knew my caddy could do that so smoothly that I wouldn't realize? - No ticket, just a 'warning' from a sweet officer named MICHAEL! (Maybe I am not so alone?)
I find I am constantly struggling with the conflict of wanting to be independent from my children and hating the idea of being without Mike day to day. I am not lonely.... I just miss him terribly. I guess this is the part that time is supposed to 'heal'.
Like my foot, my heart still needs to be cradled. I will get there.... baby steps...
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