I’ve taken two trips without my husband in the nine months since he died. I’m not sure I will try another. I have forgotten how to enjoy myself fully without his reflection, his reaction, his smile, his laugh. My companions try to make sure I’m included in activities, they walk a bit slower, they pose for pictures, but they don’t miss him like I do.
He was that extra pair of hands to hold something for me, to carry my bag or my camera when the going got a bit tough, and to reach out and take my hand up the hills. I miss that. There were times when I know we would have shared one of those special looks that only those together for many, many years know and understand. I miss that.
I miss seeing if he enjoyed the fish and chips in Ireland or if he complained that the dish was better at our local High Tide. I needed him to explain the how and why of the Cliffs of Moher. I depend on him to figure out what is wrong with the car and know what to do. There is no one there to share it all with.
I wonder if my brain will eventually adapt to his absence. Will I ever be able to experience the highs and lows without his unique perspective? The dynamic of every group is different because he’s not with me.
It’s been too long since I was single. I’ve just forgotten how to do it.
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