Ghost wife

Kitchen Floor

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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.

Tension

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Really real widow post:

The memory posts are getting closer and closer to the two year mark but I’ve felt it in my chest for weeks. My anxiety is making me nauseas and as much as I know I need to live and thrive and not revert to survival mode it’s taking everything in me just to put one foot in front of the other.

I feel like I’m functioning within this constant whirlwind. I’m making the motions, I’m doing the things but my head is screaming to get out. Run. Every noise is danger. Every sudden movement is something I need to react to. I’m on edge. I want to puke. My brain is so so loud. I’m afraid of messing it all up.

Everything feels like tension and tension is palpable even where it has nothing to do with me. But tension is triggering as fuck for me.

(Trigger warning: Talk about Parker’s actual death here (but not suicide really)…. more than some will be comfortable hearing but not actually graphic, just the kind of shit our society doesn’t talk about)
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Parker and I fought before she died. The kind of verbal fight that had us going to our own corners to chill out. Except, the only “real” conversation after that was a text she sent me saying “I love you, I’m sorry”

Later when I went to bed and she was already sleeping I remembered thinking “she must be okay, she must understand, the tension is gone.” But typically it never mattered if she was sleeping. If we were fighting the tension stayed until we talked it out.

The next morning when I went to wake her I realized she was dead.

Ghost wives are no longer angry and so there wasn’t tension.

Tension is hugely triggering and while it’s always been a problem for me, I hate seeing people around me upset. Now, that tension in the air, that fight or flight response….

Right now I shut down. I’m on edge and I don’t know how to respond. Stores make me feel agoraphobic again, I want to lock myself in the house and not leave.

I am feeling everybody’s everything’s.

What if it’s my fault. What will the outcome be.

When will the next feeling of tension cause the next snowball of events like that time did?

My body is waiting for that need to react.

And meanwhile I’m sitting in a car, typing this, posting it, so I can put on a totally okay face and NSO another derby event because while all of this is happening and I’m trying so so hard not to lean too much on anyone, especially those closest to me because that’s how people die, that’s how I push them away, that’s how I become too much….

I keep putting one foot in front of the other and trying to live and thrive and not just survive because I have seen the alternative.

Tension fucking sucks.

Widowing Ain’t Easy.

(No time to edit, pardon typos please)

Board of Education

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Almost two years later and the board of ed sends Parker another debt notice.

Yep… she’s still not coming back to pay her student loans, I promise you. Hell, we probably couldn’t pay them if she was alive.

Yep. I’ll send yet another copy of the death certificate.

People wonder why we don’t get over our ghost spouse?

Why we move forward but we never get over being a widow?

Cause we have to remember their SSN and find the death certificate to call and punch in those numbers and read out thier names and then make jokes to try and feel better about the whole fucking situation while remembering that those last two loans were for the classes she was barely in for a week before she died.

I’m so happy with my life now but grief is a damn bitch and she’s still not coming back to pay those fucking loans.

At least I didn’t cuss out this poor employee over it. I guess I’ve healed quite a bit since the last time.