13 years of missing Paul; of missing me

It’s now been 13 years since my beloved husband, Paul, died suddenly and unexpectedly.

It’s a strange feeling, being this far from the immediate grief and pain of bereavement. I am still grieving in some ways (and I always will) but I don’t live in a state of grief. I do, however, live with this sense that something is missing.

The “missing” something is more than the amputation analogy I shared many years ago. Yes, of course, I am missing my husband and the partnership we shared; I feel that “amputated at the heart” sense regularly. But I am also missing a sense of place; the anchor that I had with Paul. Without that (the person or the feeling) I feel quite transient. Everything is temporary and it is an unsettled feeling at times.

After 13 years of widowhood, I feel that I’ve been set afloat with no home. And I imagine it’s made more obvious because the house where I live is someone else’s house; it’s their home and I am just a lodger. Outside of my room, the house is decorated with someone else’s “stuff” and there is no room for my stuff.

I don’t belong here. And I don’t have someone to belong with.

I find myself thinking about Paul and the sense of place I had with him. And I find myself wondering if I will ever find that sense of place again. Or if I will always feel this sense of missing.

But I also find myself wondering if that sense of place might return one day.

I have job security again, thanks to a permanent lectureship. And that has made me more confident about getting a place of my own. Maybe a rental house, or maybe I’ll buy something again. (A prospect that is sure to bring pain as I recall the house Paul and I bought together.)

And maybe the security of a job and a home of my own will provide me security in myself.

I don’t know. But what I do know is that after 13 years of widowhood, I miss Paul… and I miss my sense of place and security. And I can’t do anything to bring Paul back to me. So, maybe by the 14th year since his passing, I will be able to feel that little bit of place and purpose once again. Maybe…

Paul, I will always miss you and you will live in my heart forever. I luv ya, luv. x

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