Living our lives with more purpose than before.

That was one of the sentences Rebecca Woolf wrote in a posting regarding expectations in widowhood last week. Of all the head nodding relatable things she wrote about society’s judgements on how a widow should behave after the death of her husband, it was that sentence that hit the hardest. Those words were like hands wrapping around my arms to give me a good shake. Living my life with more purpose than I did before Chris’s death is like walking around under a thick heavy blanket. It is exhausting and when it is all I can do to take air into my own lungs, the guilt of not living with more purpose turns that thick heavy blanket into a wet thick heavy blanket.

Now, I know that the people in my immediate circle do not judge or have expectations regarding my widow behavior. I know that those judgment fingers are my own fingers pointing into my own face. No one expects more than I do of myself. After reading Rebecca’s post, I sent a message to her that read “‘Living our lives with more purpose than before’ is so fucking exhausting.” It wasn’t until I had written it out that I realized the weight of what I have been carrying around with me all this time. No wonder I’m tired all the dang time. It is hard enough on most days to live a life of purpose for myself, let alone live a life of purpose for myself and another human. I had a hard time separating the me from the me and Chris. So much of my life after Chris is tinged with guilt because I went from being a person who didn’t care what others thought of me to a person who suddenly cared what a dead man thought of me. It has taken me almost ten years to figure out that who I am without Chris is the same person I was with Chris, with just a few minor adjustments.

This week, I removed my set of wedding rings from the chain I wear around my neck, leaving Chris’s wedding band and my scooter charm. I remember clearly when I added my rings to the chain with Chris’s ring. I took them off my finger because I had lost enough weight to make them loose on my ring finger. Dangerously loose. I remember riding the scooter home from work and feeling them slip from the largest knuckle. At the time, it made perfect sense to add them to Chris’s ring. I really didn’t know what else to do with my wedding rings, but I really didn’t know what to do with myself. As I lifted my chain to place it around my neck, I was astounded by how noticeably lighter that chain felt without my rings and later in the day, when I caught a reflection of myself with only Chris’s ring and my scooter charm on that chain, my hand flew to my neck in a moment of panic. For a very brief moment, I thought “there is no me without him.” Then the thumb of my hand that had flown up to my neck, looped Chris’s wedding band onto itself. I spun that ring around my thumb, feeling the soothing coolness and remembered how light I felt by taking my rings off. The moment of panic slipped easily away because I realized that the truth is, there is no him without me.

The Cabbage recently broached the subject of death and afterlife. I mentioned The Law of Conservation of Energy.

The law of conservation of energy states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed - only converted from one form of energy to another.

Chris’s energy is everywhere and nowhere. I feel it when I’m writing and creating. I feel it when I watch any movie or hear new music from one of our favorite bands. He’s holding the pen every time I sit down to make a list of any kind. I feel it when I see something that I know we would both laugh forever about. It is his voice saying that sharp witted subtle thing that makes someone else in the room laugh. I will never let go of Chris or his wedding band. I will always be married to him, but I am ready to let go of living this life for him. I am ready to drop these expectations I have of myself, the ones that whisper “I am not enough.”

I want to have some not so great expectations for living.