Kind people ask me how I am. The first answer is that I am alive and Helen is not, so why should I complain. Which I express as "I'm ok".
The second answer, which I cannot long conceal, is that I am grieving still. All sorts of things set me off. And I don't mind the tears, they are a tribute to her.
The third answer, which I have kept mostly to myself, is that I am diminished without her in a way that I failed to foresee while she was alive. I don't mean that I miss the things we used to do together, though of course I do. I mean that I take less pleasure in the things I enjoy, because I cannot talk to her about them. I mean that I have less confidence in my judgment, because she isn't here to trust in it. I mean that I have less motivation to do necessary things I don't want to do, because I can't tell her I've done them. I mean that I am alone, not in the sense that I lack congenial company, but in the much deeper sense that I am without the person I had built into my life.
I tried to think of a better word for this than 'loneliness'. Is there one?
Bereft
ReplyDelete"And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation." Kahlil Gibran
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