Highs and Lows

I try to only post on good days and aim to be positive about my new path as a widow as often as possible. I am a firm believer that I am the one who will decide my future, even if the hand that I have been dealt is particularly shitty. I want a happy future, and I know Terry wants me to be happy more than anything. When people ask me how I am I often respond with highs and lows, which is the best response I can think of. I am happy that there are any highs at all this soon in, and I had been having a really positive week before yesterday. Yesterday was a low.

The day started off well, I picked up a package from the post office. Inside of it was this mug, which I adore:

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How is your day gonna be?
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Happy

I made some lovely espresso and drank it out of my new mug and when I got to the bottom I felt optimistic. I painted my nails for the first time since Terry’s death yesterday, a small accomplishment, but I felt really proud of myself afterwards. Then I received a letter from the bank in the mail addressed to Terry and myself. Just seeing his name on the letter felt like being punched in the stomach and took all the wind out of me. I opened it up, my chest feeling tight. Our home insurance payment hadn’t gone through, please call. I called, they had never switched the direct debit to my account, it was scheduled to come out of Terry’s account. I corrected the error, but they refused to take Terry’s name off without having seen the death certificate, which I took to the bank seven weeks ago. I had to open the filing cabinet and pull out my husband’s death certificate, which was painful in and of itself, and walk into town to the bank. I felt physical pain throughout all of this, I clutched my umbrella so hard that my knuckles were white. The bank apologized profusely, it was a relatively smooth transaction, but when I got home I collapsed in a pile of tears. Not the kind of tears I get when I see something on TV that Terry would have enjoyed, but the my husband is dead and is never coming back to comfort me and why am I still having to show his death certificate to prove this to people tears. Painful tears. For the first time in weeks. A book that I received in one of my care packages describes this as a griefburst and I like this as often it all happens so suddenly that it feels like some sort of emotional explosion. I think because I had stopped crying like this on a daily basis, I may have naively thought that the worst was over. Silly me.

I was able to pull myself together and sniffle into a lovely mug of pumpkin spice hot chocolate. I had plans with a friend for coffee – I switched them to drinks. Proper drinks. Then those plans fell through and it was round two. Yesterday was a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day. The kind that ends in cat leggings and mascara streaks and red wine and Reese’s Pieces. Anything that I thought might comfort me I grabbed at blindly, trying to make the pain stop.

The good news is that my terrible, horrible, no good very bad day did end. I slept well and woke up this morning feeling ever so slightly better. I walked across town for some Starbucks therapy and it was delicious. Today has started off well, and I remain optimistic. After all, today is a new day, and I do give a damn, and y’all can just call me Scarlett.

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