That’s what I’d tell you if we were having coffee.
But we are not. And today, I just sit and stare at this screen. I don’t know how to put in to words the stuff that’s going on in my head. Or my heart really, because that’s where I have this choked feeling and physical pain. Usually when I start writing, some instances come to mind. Something about Gaurav, our time together, or just what’s happening with me these days. Today seems to be weird. I need to get this knot out of me, I need some release in tears. So I wait.
In less than 2 months, he’d have been gone a year. Yet, I don’t feel like a widow. I miss him in little things every day. I see him smile at me from a picture frame. I know in my head that he’s gone. But I don’t feel him gone. I could just pick up the phone and call him to tell him about my day, to argue with him about some little thing, to ask him if he wants to go out tonight. He could walk in at the door now.
I’ve been laughing, eating, sleeping, working, weeping… I’ve been living… and it sucks. People think I’m okay now, since it’s been a while and I do look and act like nothing is amiss. But once when the doors are locked for the night, and the world has gone to their own homes, it’s just me, sitting alone, wondering what to do next.
And at these time everything that has happened rankles. Like a question I got asked yesterday. I am taking time off from work starting next week – I need to get to a really calm state before I attempt this last egg retrieval. So I went for this client meeting to sort out some stuff. We mentioned that someone else will continue the project in my stead, as I will be back only in August/September. And someone asked if I was going to be married! I went numb, but still managed to smile and deflect with a ‘just taking a break’; but my heart was already hammering and I wanted to yell “I am married and my husband is dead”. I somehow made some small talk till we left. But the statement has not left me yet. And nor has the fact that I don’t feel like a widow.
I look at his pics, the same ones, over and over again. Him smiling at me, with me (I loved his smile – it could really light up a room) and I feel guilty. Guilty for being here, for doing things he no longer can. And I just want him to come back. I wouldn’t mind swapping places either. He can wait here, while I get a taste of the beyond. That would have been better – he knew how to live, I don’t. So why is this burden on my shoulders? Why couldn’t it be him! If someone had to stay back alone, he should have!
He would never be cooped up at home. He’d have rallied everyone around him. He’d have reached out to friends to tide him over in his grief. I can’t do that. If anything, I’m curling deeper and deeper in to myself. I no longer have a will to talk about anything – I still prattle – but that’s to fill up the silence. I am tired of pretending. It’s tremendous effort for me to meet people – I feel good when I do meet them, but I don’t take the initiative. All I think about is the baby. I have no other desires – I don’t want to go out, I don’t want to work, I don’t want a house or a fancy car anymore. Sure I talk about them, but all I want is that baby.
And I’m going to be the best mother ever…