When I was married to David, (well, when my husband was living, because much of the time I still "feel" married, but sometimes I don't anymore ...) I was a wife -- a cleaved one. I was also me, but I no longer lived just for myself. Gibran wrote about this in his thoughts "On Marriage."
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
- Kahlil Gibran, from The Prophet
I don't agree with everything Gibran wrote, but most of it is beautiful. "Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. ... And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow." Sadly, I think that our lives' circumstances caused me to surely grow in David's shadow, at least from time to time ...Then I became a mother and my life was hugely changed. Being a wife and a mother sort of requires that you reform. You're the same person, but living with new and exciting priorities and obligations.
Because I was a wife and mother I was always a caregiver, but when David was diagnosed, I became a different kind of caregiver. Throughout the last few years of his life, being a caregiver became pretty much the whole of my existence. And when he died, suddenly that mostly went away. Yeh, dealing with the business of death took the better part of a year and I still handle the business end of his music as well as brain tumor inquiries and requests, but the day to day intensity of his medical, practical and emotional care ended. Along with that, however, waned the adrenalin that had kept me going. I found myself in an unfamiliar state of peace ... and deep grief, then hibernation.
As of this past fall, I discovered that I was almost kind of finished being a caregiver. Sure, my kids still need parenting and will need parenting, but the level of care given is declining, as it should. I am not responsible for getting a kid up and to school, for making lunches, for being on-call, for being home when they're home, for making dinner, doing laundry, meeting with teachers, attending concerts ... I'm on my own with my own schedule. I haven't been in this situation for 26 years. Secretly, it's delightfully liberating. I do love having my children in my midst and am excited for them to come home next week for spring break, but it's gratifying to realize that I'm good with nature's turning of time. Rather than wallowing in a bereft'ness because they're not home, I'm accepting it and rejoicing that they are independent and happy and doing well! I'm not sure how or why I've found myself in this emotional state, but I'm not going to question it. I'm even feeling a little happy! It's sort of like a trophy -- a medal to hang around my neck for a job well-done. Their success is a reflection of all that caregiving.
And now .... I don't want to make my kids shudder, but lately I've been noticing men noticing me. I'm trying to figure out if this has been going on all these years and I was just oblivious to it. You know ... I was very married, so the rebuffing of even the thought of welcoming that visual connection (eye contact) -- that second take -- that spontaneous smile -- was subconscious. Then, when David died, I felt like everyone could envision the metaphorical black veil that covered my face and my spirit, so I wasn't getting a glimpse of anything through all that darkness. But, honestly, now I am noticing men. Do I have a newly-revealed charm -- charisma -- that is emanating from within me? Some days I feel like I do! Some days I feel like I can extract any response that I want. (Today I was given a beach souvenir gratis. I'm serious!) It's a startling revelation, yet one cast with shadows of familiarity. I was married for a long time -- half of my life. I forsook all of this, whatever you call it, a long time ago. But it's no longer necessary to eschew it and, as I feel less and less married, the mentality of singleness is creeping back into my consciousness. You'd think for a scaredy-cat like me, this would all be a little daunting. Instead, I'm finding it to be a little exhilarating. Of course I know myself and I'm not gonna' do anything reckless (darn), but it's fun to hang-out along the outskirts, dangling a toe into the other side here and there.
Something undetermined ... unspecified is bubbling up within me – like lava, dormant, yet simmering, lying just beneath the surface -- beginning to swirl and flow. My chest swells with this wondrous sensation, but I have no outlet for it! I feel like I suddenly possess an undefined passion -- an uncontained, big love -- in need of a path for expression. Sometimes I feel like I can no longer contain it – like I’m going to burst with untamed whatever! It is exciting and frustrating all at once.pas·sion [pash-uhn] noun: 1. any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as love or hate.
Passion for what? How, now, do I love people ... and stuff like music and nature -- life ... my life? It's almost like I have permission to remake it -- to re-form it -- to the extent that I may wish, because I have the freedom to do so for the first time in as long as I can remember ... maybe ever. I've never been in a place where I could just do whatever I wanted to do! I attended my second choice college because of money (but I don't bemoan that at all -- my kids would not exist, as I would never have met and fallen in love with David), then I went straight to work in a job provided for me (for which I was thankful and always will be), then almost immediately into marriage, making decisions about my life in tandem with and in consideration of David. My next job was dictated by economics, as was where I lived. Raising children kept me (happily) grounded at home -- and supporting David in his vocation required it. He travelled so much that I had no choice but to be the "rock" that kept the home fires burning ... and I was [mostly] happy to do so. But now ... you see? If I so choose, I can do whatever I want to do. The rock is becoming molten -- fluid. It's an alien circumstance. It's kind of wonderful.
By nature, I am a careful person. I consider every facet of a situation, especially how others are affected by choices made. I am pragmatic. I am sensible. But deep down ... where that lava is heating up and casting an orange glow on everything, I feel brave. Not the kind of brave that it took to survive 14 years of brain cancer. A different, undaunted kind of brave that is not a requirement, but a freedom.
I'm taking pleasure in the contemplation of all of this newness and will continue to meditate on it -- this unleashed something ... and the myriad of new ways to love -- to express the swelling pool of undefined, unformed passion.
Lyrics from a Mumford and Sons song expresses my feelings rather plainly.
... We will run and scream
You will dance with me
They'll fulfill our dreams
And we'll be free
And we will be who we are
And they'll heal our scars
Sadness will be far away
Do not let my fickle flesh go to waste
As it keeps my heart and soul in its place
And I will love with urgency but not with haste
~ Not With Haste
I find this post fascinating, and rather familiar...although you express things so much more poignantly than I ever could. I got to the point you are beginning to explore after 18 months, following my husband's death from brain cancer after a 12 year battle. Maybe I was earlier in beginning to awaken from the sadness and grief because we had been married 40 years, and my kids were married and starting to have kids of their own and I wondered how much time I might have in this new "normal". And because I had sons, I couldn't inject myself in their married lives to any big degree as my daughter-in-laws would have had issues. So I too began to awaken to new possibilities and wondered if love could come my way again. It is now four plus years since my husband died, and I have a new relationship and he makes me very happy. I wish the same for you. Life is too short, as we both know, and you are too young to be forever alone. If I could give you one piece of advice it would be: Don't be too hard on yourself for your feelings...no guilt -- as you move forward. There may be days when you question whether you have a "right" to feel happy in the company of another man...don't go there...just take it as slowly as you need and embrace the new journey that you are on.
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