Since the new year, life has really been changing a lot for the kids and I. I've taken some drastic steps towards the future of our family, a positive future.
I decided with the money that Barry left me, I was going to purchase a home for the kids and I, and I did! I am a HOMEOWNER!!! Well, not technically...yet, but closing is March 15th. The inspection was yesterday, and I locked in my mortgage rate today! I got a great deal and my mortgage payment, with my down payment, will be only $50 more than I pay right now for rent! I am so happy about that! I will have to add in water/sewer bills, but that won't be too much more per month.
The house is beautiful, I LOVE it. It's 2200sq feet, 4 bedrooms, 2.5/3 baths, two car garage, fully fenced back yard, gorgeous gorgeous HUGE kitchen etc etc. I really love it. It is a brand new home too! move in ready!! I don't have to do any painting, all I have to do is buy new furniture and some decor items.
Back to my original point though, I feel cheated. I really really do. Why do I feel cheated? take a wild guess....because I'm a widow.
At my grief support group, most of the ladies there had been married to their husbands for 50+ years. 50 Years. And me? I barely got 10. Not even 10. I got 9 years, 9 months and 11 days. That is it.
I desperately wish for, long for, and want with my whole body mind and soul, to have had that amount of time with him. I HATE that I only got 11 years of knowing him. It's just not fair!
What I am about to say, I don't admit this to many people except my three closest girlfriends. But honestly? I am so desperately afraid of being alone the rest of my life. I know it's not something I need to worry about right now, but the fear that I have about this is almost crippling. One of them suggested I might be struggling with separation anxiety, and I do agree with her. And my mom said to me after Barry died, that the lack of communication would be what I have the hardest time with. And they're all right.
I struggle daily with not being able to talk to him. You have to know, we went from HOURS of talking a day to ZERO, ZILCH, NOTHING. Absolutely nothing. And I feel lost without him, without being able to hear his voice in my ear...even when we talked about mundane things like what I was making for dinner, or chit chatting while I was in Target or Wal Mart.
This lack of communication actually causes me a LOT of anxiety. I tend to just push it from my mind, and spend lots of time on the phone with my friends to help pass the time so I don't think about the fact that I'm not talking to him. When I do think about it, my heart starts to beat faster, I get a rush of adrenaline and I feel panicky.
But apart from that, other things cause me anxiety too. Just recently, within the past few weeks, when I went to the hospital for my Grief Works group, I passed by a little recess in the wall that had hand sanitizer and masks. It happened today too. I saw the masks and started to get anxious. Why you ask? Because when Barry was in the CCU, I had to wear them constantly. They made my lips and face numb. I can still feel it on my skin even now, more than 4 months after he died. I can picture my little routine of driving to the hospital, finding a parking spot...walking down the outside stairs and down the hallway to the CCU unit. Going to the bathroom before I called in and washing my hands. Picking up the phone and saying "This is Barry's wife, can I please come in?". Hearing the door latch click open, and walking down the tile floor a ways...turning right, and then walking another 5 feet through the wide double doors into the CCU Unit. The nurses station on the right, I'd usually say hello, and then Barry's room off to the far left. I'd grab a mask on the outside of his sliding glass door, slip the elastic over my ears, and pinch it around my nose. I'd slide open the door and start saying hello to him. I'd place my stuff in the chair, and go kiss him hello. Then I'd sit down and do stuff in the chair, or I'd stand by him and talk to him, rubbing his hands, or his feet, or just sit and talk to him as the numbness from the mask overtook my face. .
I did this every single day. Multiple times a day. Sometimes I was back and forth at the hospital three times a day...morning, afternoon, and at night after dinner. I often wouldn't come home till 11, 12PM at night sometimes. At times I miss this routine, because even if he was sick, he was still alive and I could still be with him.
I miss him. I miss him so much I can't stand it, and I hate feeling cheated!