It’s been 28 months since Gary took his last breath. Everything changes when you are widowed, and I mean every aspect of life is altered. For widows, even the simplest tasks like grocery shopping can trigger memories of our dead spouses. Those triggers seem to lurk around every corner and on every shelf, impossible to avoid. Like spotting the pickles Gary used to enjoy, or reaching for the bakery Italian bread because it was his favorite for sandwiches, or grabbing half-and-half because it was a staple for his coffee.

I’ll admit, for the first two years after Gary died, I relied heavily on my Instacart membership. Paying someone else to deal with what I considered the worst chore in the world seemed like a small price to pay. Sure, I’d occasionally stop by a store on my way home from work for a quick item, but the thought of doing a full grocery run filled me with dread. I just wouldn’t do it… except for special family gatherings or holidays.

This is Easter weekend. I knew I needed to brave the grocery store crowds. I woke up at 6:00 a.m. hoping to beat the rush. Plugging in my earbuds, I tried to tune out the bustling noise around me as I armed myself with a list and steeled myself to just complete the task. Suffice it to say, I did complete the task, I just didn’t’ want to, I didn’t enjoy it, I just plain hated it.  

I’ve always believed in confronting triggers head-on to desensitize myself to them, but it just doesn’t work with grocery shopping.  I’m angry making the list. I’m angry driving there.  I’m angry getting the cart. I’m angry walking up and down the aisles.  I’m angry checking out.  I’m angry driving home. I’m angry putting the food away. I’m angry watching the food deplete from my fridge and cabinets and knowing that I will have to do it again.  I’m angry that food doesn’t just appear when I need it. I am angry there isn’t a real-life food genie.

I am not angry at Gary.  Nope. This anger is all mine – it’s in me.  

The realization hits me hard—I can’t keep throwing money at Instacart just because I’m angry. Food is a necessity, yes, but it’s not everything. I’ve been trying SO HARD to manage my emotions surrounding grocery shopping, and it dawns on me: I hate it now. This is who I am—a Gladys who despises grocery shopping. And maybe, just maybe, I can accept that I may never find joy in it again. I can embrace being the person who hates grocery shopping and stop trying to force myself back into the role of the girl who once loved it, with Gary by her side, navigating the aisles together.