Written on March 14, 2024

I am writing this at Midway Airport, in Chicago, awaiting my flight to Tampa to take me to Camp Widow.

I have a thought. This thought is… this isn’t my life. 

I think I understand that this is my life – at least I understand that on a logical level.  I also think that I’m almost at the place that I am resigned to just continue with my life as I’m supposed to do, as I truly want to continue living.  But I am confusing “breathing” with “living.” 

I think my soul is continuing (but not actively choosing) to live.  I have made decisions, many decisions.  For example, I have chosen to move, and I know my reasons.  I am going through some motions in order to move toward “that mountain.”  I say true thoughts to myself so that those thoughts come more naturally. I understand that the specifics of my future are unknown.  I regularly process any uncomfortable feelings when they arise connected to my unknown future.  What I am trying to say is that I am checking the boxes, I’m doing the next thing. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not complaining.  Progress, as a widow, is significant.  It is also a great motivator – pushing me towards more accomplishments.  But I don’t think progress and accomplishments are what my SOUL needs to LIVE.

I am in awe that I am alive.  I am in awe of my true – way down deep in me – desire to keep breathing.  I know that I owe my life (and all that is connected to it) to that desire to keep breathing.  There were days – especially right after Gary’s last breath – that is was THAT DESIRE to KEEP BREATHING that kept me here.  I do not know the root of that desire.  It feels instinctually connected to love… the love that Gary poured into me.  That love was so present, so intense, that it fortified my existence.  My initial response was, “I stand here in his love.”

It felt like almost a duty, a calling to be here, in this realm; to be here even without the lifeline that I knew for 13,202 days; to be here and bask in the tangible glow of his love for me.  I stood firm in the fact that I was here and here I would stay. But you must know that my appearance didn’t convey that.  Physically, outwardly, I was crumpled.  But spiritually, inwardly, I was here and I wasn’t going anywhere.  I had things to do. But what?