A Walking Tour

For the past month, I have walked through moments of astounding sadness, blood-boiling rage, as well as surprising amounts of joy and wonder. The other widows warned me that this would happen, and even hinted that these all might occur on the same day. Despite having been alerted to this, my head still spins at the conflicting emotions.

Today was an amazing day at work for me. I had a 3-hour meeting with one of my most difficult clients. But, this time I decided to change the game. I let go of all the animosity from times past, started with a blank slate, and just cleared my mind to focus on providing this client with a great experience. The meeting was amazing, exhilarating, and fun. I performed in the manner Cindy always told me I could: confident, focused, and knowledgeable. After the meeting, I just stared at my cell phone wanting so bad to call Cindy to let her know how I did. I scored a big win for my company and all I wanted was to share it with her. On the walk back to my car, I just started crying. When I got in my car to drive back to work, I slammed the door and threw the phone on the floor of the passenger seat.

I am not used to the sensations that rage inflicts on my body. And what's worse is that when I am in a state of rage, I usually wind up shouting at Cindy for leaving me to deal with all this sh*t. I hear that song lyric playing over and over in my head: "All the living are dead and the dead are all living." Everyone tells me she's in a better place, at peace finally, or in some sort of paradise, but then I am still here. And here sometimes sucks really bad: it's painful, scary, lonely, confusing, and cold.

In the midst of the sadness and rage, there are also these spontaneous wonderful moments. The day after Thanksgiving comes to mind when I got a call from Cindy's mother. I had some trepidation about taking the call, but something in my gut told me to answer it. I remember sitting against the window and breaking down after Cindy's mother finally acknowledged who I was to her daughter: "I am sorry I did not understand who you were to Cindy. I know now. You loved Cindy as much as I did." In my wildest dreams, I would never have expected this conversation, but there it was happening to my total surprise.

I've written before that I felt like I've gotten completely new eyes because I experience everything so differently now. But now it's not even that things look different, the things around me also feel, taste, smell, and sound different. Those who knew Cindy and I together as a couple knew that she was the affectionate one, the warm one, the one who would end every conversation with the words "I love you bye bye." But now, all of a sudden, I am the affectionate one. I am experiencing moments when I am filled with an intense amount of love for the people around me. For my family who remain steadfastly supportive. For my friends who continue to send me texts, e-mails, and phone calls everyday. For my Seattle crew who flew across the country to hold me in bed at night when I could not sleep alone.

During these moments of joy and wonder, I am reminded that I would never have experienced any of it if I had shut myself off and sunk into despondency. And so I remind myself to keep walking through the emotions, even the tough ones, because this seems to be the right journey to take.