Would You Know Me?

So much time has gone by. Months and months, now over three years. Things have happened, little things, boring things, big huge things. Through it all, I often wonder...

What would you think?

I simply don't know. I could guess, but I do not have any way of knowing because you are not here. You are gone.

You are dead.

It is still shocking to me that your light has gone out. The kindness in your smile, your voice, your eyes... It will not beam on me or anyone you loved again.

How can that be? It is not fair. You were so good. So very, very good.

So yes, time has passed and you are still not here. You are not coming back. And I... Well, I have changed. I sit here tonight and know that I am not the same as I was when you were here.

For starters, I feel one hundred years old. I am bone tired from the constant managing and weight of missing. My hair is streaked with white, my body is softer, my face a little more substantial, my eyesight is declining.

Yes, the old me with boundless vigor and 20-20 vision is gone. I fall into bed exhausted every night at a shockingly early hour. My new glasses, which I have been instructed to wear as much as possible, are set to arrive tomorrow. I wonder what I'll look like with these glasses and if I'll feel totally different. My mind immediately asks...

Would you know me now?

The question nips at the back of my consciousness. I know I am quite different from when you were here, when we were Us. On the one hand, I am ashamed. I'm more jaded, bitter, depressed, leaden. On the other hand, I'm so sorry you missed out on this version of me because I manage, Chris. I handle things. I'm not only talking about the school bus just not coming for a solid week, I'm talking about Serious Crap. I'm actually decent in a crisis now. I don't know if you saw that when you were in crisis because I was so worried about doing the wrong thing and was simply AFRAID, but my competence has its origins in your decline. Your illness and death changed me.

When things go wrong, I pony up. I manage. Stiff upper lip, voicing the unspeakable and all that. 

Except. 

Except I lose my mind sometimes. I rail against the improbability of the cards life has dealt us, now me. I get angry. I am jealous of people who haven't had their lives upended. I despair. I don't know how to go on with a purpose, with joy. It all seems so meaningless without you.  

Like my clothes, this life doesn't feel like it fits. It was a life that worked wonderfully with you, with Us. But now, I don't know why I stay in this place, this job and this house and this life, without you. It no longer makes sense. Yet, I don't know what to do. 

I don't know what I am supposed to do, Chris.

Maybe you would know me now. Unfortunately, most of my life has been this way, feeling like I don't know what to do. I had no idea what to do when you seized that first time. I didn't know what to do when you had a difficult recovery from the first surgery. I was terrified when you would discuss the tumor returning while it was stable. I froze when you started having partial seizures again and then we found out that the tumor did return. I panicked inside as you faced your inevitable death over many months. I cried out of desperation as you slipped away, silently imploring you to stay.

This has been a long journey of acceptance. I am still working on accepting that you are truly gone. I do still beg you to come back... But, when push comes to shove, I am less reliant on the memory of you and Us to guide my decisions. I ask for help from other people because I am forced to, and I want to. I need so much help, so so so much help. That is ok. No woman is an island, I suppose.

The converse of my question hurts in a different way. 

Would I still know you?

Of course. Of course, of course. You are in my dresser, a heavy box of ashes, frozen in time. Your brain cannot rewire, you cannot change. Your goodness is as true as it always was. 

I don't know how to reconcile my aging and your not being.

Would you know me?

You would if you could. 

You would if you only could.

Please. If there is any way that I don't know about, don't believe in... Please help me. Please help me guide our children. Show us how to feel joy. 

Please help me go on more easily, more gracefully. 

I miss you so.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do.