Is there life after death? Philosophers, theologians and wise men have pondered this question for ages. I am none of the above and until I die, I couldn’t answer with any certainty. But there is life after death for those that are left behind. And on that topic, I am well versed.
When I became a widow, I found myself searching for answers on what to do next. I wanted to know what was expected of me. Unfortunately there are no books in the library with a clearly laid out plan and timeline. I did have the benefit of many opinions and advice from well-meaning people. Everyone seemed to have their own ideas on how I should act and what I should or shouldn’t do. Unfortunately a large percentage were a mere regurgitation of antiquated societal dictates. And a majority of them from people who have never had to walk that path.
As I approach the 6-month anniversary of the death of my husband, I have had time to put everything into perspective. I’ve spent a lot of time cooped up inside the walls of my apartment, careful not to appear anything other than the grieving widow. And I realized that my period of grief and mourning started well before Randy’s death. It started the day I was told they successfully removed the tumor, but the cancer had metastasized to at least one lymph node. I kept that small glimmer of hope that treatment would be effective, but the reality of lymph node involvement made me understand I needed to prepare myself. Over the course of the next few months, I watched him wither away in front of my eyes, and when I saw the hope vanish in his, I knew the time was at hand. So, even though it has only been 6 months since his passing, it has been well over a year of mourning — for him, for the children and for me.
And now it is time to move on with my life — certainly to the dismay of some. But I realize that I can’t stop living, my life goes on.
