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A Widow Copes
More than anything, I am writing out loud here, if you will.
For I am hardly any sort of helpless woman who needs a man to survive. Indeed many would call me a happening young senior citizen, fairly well off financially, living where she loves, mostly healthy thank God for the days of private health insurance and no death panels when I had a quadruple bypass and came through handily.
But it's tough, it's tough as can be, to lose someone you've loved so dearly for so many years.
I tell e very one I am ok. And I am. Yet there are times when I am very lonely, when I think of Billy and wish so bad he was still here.
Does this mean I am NOT ok as I tell people.
Of course not.
Evenings get very difficult for me, from 6-9 pm mostly, those hours when Billy and I were together, time past the busy cleaning, bookkeeping and errand-running earlier in the day.
It wasn't that we discussed weighty matters all that much, those hours when he dined with me working my kitchen "command center", worrying that his difficult-to-please palate of his is content with my offering.
I never begrudged Billy one second of the time I spent taking caring of him. First, he was one of the kindest, least-assuming fellows in the world. He never nagged, gave me grief, darn you had to watch the man sometimes so unassuming was he that he might be on death's door before realized.
At times his food oddities annoyed me. Normal marital stuff, really.
Mostly we did our things together. He watched wrestling and surfed the Net. I ate my dinner after him, watching MY shows on MY tv….you gotta understand how our house logistics made this possible but it was a really great system.
After my dinner I'd sit and maybe crochet, paint, Blog...whatever.
Yeah, those three hours are still very difficult for me.
It's not all negative and blue, this adjustment to life as a widow.
Billy never, in his entire life, even should he be dying from starvation, ate an egg.
Eggs were like snot with big yellow boogers to Billy.
Man I have learned how to fry an egg better than a diner and have two or three fried egg dinners a week.
I never bothered fixing eggs for myself when Billy was alive. Not because, do not think for a second, that Billy would care if I fried myself an egg. It was more that I adjusted MY culinary tastes around his, so to speak, as to be more efficient in cooking. If I made myself a meal of fried eggs and bacon, I would have to make Billy a meal of something else. I just never bothered.
I am trying to move all signs of Billy from this house and I know that such an assertion would cause consternation in some.
Of course it's not that I want to ban him from my memories. I do want to stop the intrusion of Billy into my life NOW. Every time I see that empty chair behind his desk, all I can say is it causes a sharp pain in my stomach. Yeah, pain, genuine pain. To better cope I am systematically changing this house over to ME. I created a cherished spot for all memory of Billy and it will be forever after part of the home's décor.
Billy is no longer in this house. HE is somewhere else now. Somewhere where the air is clear, fresh, sweet and plentiful.
My Life As a Taste Of Home Field Editor
I really like Taste of Home magazine. It has a lot of good recipes and food information geared toward a common home cook such as myself.
So in my electronic Kindle version of the magazine I clicked the link to sign on to become what they call a "Field Editor".
I am not exactly a stellar cook. While I like to cook, I'm not really all that good at it. I'd offer that because I was married to such a weird food consumer that I never got good at cooking.
So I applied to be a Taste of Home Field Editor and was immediately accepted, to my complete surprise.
In addition I was sent a whole bag of goodies to include a pretty red cook apron, magazines, cook books, gadgets that I love.
Next comes my new Taste of Home to my Kindle and I go straight back to the page listing their Field Editors.
Note the squared off section under DELAWARE.
I am the only Field Editor in Delaware!
No wonder they accepted me.
Ending With a Smile