The Darkness and the Light
And how hard it is to move from one to the other.
I’m going through a dark period right now. Last week I was feeling pretty good, but even then I knew it wouldn’t last. It shouldn’t come as any surprise that a big part of it is grief. I hate that Ed isn’t here with me. I miss him, I miss his presence, but more than that, I dread that he isn’t here to help me make decisions.
Part of this dark period is sheer terror. I question everything I do, wondering if my decisions are sound or if they’re the thoughts of someone who isn’t thinking straight and may blow everything out of the water if I don’t get it right.
If that sounds overly dramatic, it probably is. But that’s how it feels, and it feels that way because I haven’t made a big decision on my own since I was 18 years old, when I became a married woman against my parents’ wishes. (Tomorrow is our anniversary. It would have been 67 years for us.)
Everything we did, we did together. We talked out every big decision and often we didn’t do what we’d started out to do because one of us saw flaws in the plan and the other began to see them, too. That’s how it works in a partnership.
Now I’m on my own. When I talk out my fears with anyone, the answer that ends it all is, ‘It’s up to you’. And that’s terrifying.
I won’t go into details about the biggest decision I’m going to have to make. I’ll just say it feels monumental and every day, when I think about it, I have a million questions instead of a definitive answer. It affects everything I do and sometimes I just crawl under the covers instead of trying to deal with it.
The worst part is, all of these worries—whether or not they’re as monumental as I think they are—are affecting my writing, the one part of my solitary life where I find comfort and joy and where I can just be me.
I’m spending more time at my other newsletter, Writer Everlasting, because I can always find something to say about writing. It’s what I do. But here at Constant Commoner you expect more from me. And I expect more from myself. I write about life here. I want to tell stories and right now I’m not feeling it.
This won’t last long. Meanwhile, I hope you’ll be patient and stick with me. I have a few drafts in the works and as soon as I get my groove back I’ll finish them.
You have that in writing now. Thanks for being here. See you soon.
I wrote this piece at Writer Everlasting a while ago, during one of my better moments. I’m grateful for them. They’re what keep me going. I hope you like it.
Take care of yourself, whatever that looks like.
I read somewhere that death turns love into grief, and with so many years of love, the grief is bound to be overwhelming at times. I never thought about the solo decision-making aspect of being widowed. We're talking openly about What Comes Next. It'll be 53 years for us soon, and nothing lasts forever. I've told Don that if he goes first, I'll sell this wonderful house and the garden we've worked on together. He's already ratified that decision in advance. What's doable for two will be too much for one. He told me, "Make new memories- assuming you don't get dementia!"