Today the kiddos and I met some of the other moms and kids at a playground, and I think I managed to present myself as a reasonably well held together person. I enjoyed meeting up with the other moms and talking about the upcoming school year and raising puppies. (I enjoyed talking about NOT MINECRAFT, in other words.) Then I came home and stared at the wall for an hour or so.
Because here’s the thing about widowhood, or at least about my widowhood, as I approach the six month mark:
There are times when I feel relatively normal and productive and happy. We do art projects and make youtube videos and bake bread and paint the living room. I post these things on Facebook.
There are, however, times when gravity feels punishing and I do not want to get off of the sofa. There are days that I order sandwiches from Door Dash because assembling a simple sandwich feels like an insurmountable task.
Some days I meet friends or take the kids somewhere and have fun and laugh until my sides hurt.
Some days I sit in my car and cry.
Sometimes this all happens in one day.
If you see me and you think I’m getting it together and coping well with my new life, you are right.
If you see me and you think I am a complete mess barely capable of standing, you are right.
I am both things, which I think is where I am supposed to be right now.
I’m not okay, but I’m okay with that, and I think that’s okay.