Kitchen Floor

Second really real widow post in the same day…..

Sometimes, being a widow, means on a wierdly meaningful day, you end up sitting on the kitchen floor crying in ways you haven’t cried in who knows how long. Sobs that keep coming and restart every time they seem to stop.

Trying to stay quiet because you know your girl is busy in the other room and you do not want her to come check on you anyway, because the tears are okay and you just need that time with ghost wife who right now you hate but you love all in the same moment.

I hate this.

Right now, sitting in my kitchen I can see her sitting across from me, putting things on the shelves when I would come home from the store and couldn’t do it myself.

The outline of memories past, her voice just out of reach.

I. Hate. This.

I don’t want to miss Parker. I don’t want to hurt like this. I want to let it go and “move on” and do all of the things that people say I should be able to do by now.

At the same time I want to shove everyone away from me because while it’s easy to type this across a screen and hit post, the last thing I want is people right here seeing this. Self saving warrior princess, positive Tina with insight and positive things to throw towards everyone is fine, but surviving this, sitting here on the kitchen floor with tears running down my face. Both thanking and cursing myself for making sure the meds are locked up because “those” thoughts are creeping around again.

This side is when I don’t want anyone around.

This is the part where I wonder if I’m loveable and if I’m ready to love. I can’t imagine anyone seeing me here, on the kitchen floor, shattered into a million pieces and wondering just how many more times I’m going to glue them back together this month alone.

The amount of fighting that happens in my brain when I remind myself that sometimes just breathing and waiting and sitting still is what I need to do.

And eventually I’ll pick myself back up, wipe off whatever bits of dried food are stuck to my ass (kitchen floor, remember… it happens, I’m a messy cook) and I’m sure I’ll end up cuddling with my girl and then walking it out sometime tonight.

Ghost wife will still be around for a long long while. Her firefly ass isn’t going anywhere.

And I’m finally starting to feel like Wonder Woman isn’t either. She seems stubborn enough to put up with my crazy ass.

Widowing isn’t for the weak. Damnit Parker. I was strong enough before, I didn’t need this particular set of skills.

Or maybe I did. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

Isn’t that what I always say?

I don’t think I’m supposed to be on the kitchen floor.

Guess it’s time to get up.

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