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Widowhood : The Four Year Mark
The four year “anniversary” of my husband’s suicide recently came and went. It’s not an easy day, it’s definitely not a fun day, but every year it somehow gets a little easier.
I have gone through every.single.solitary emotion associated with this kind of thing, over and over again, and probably will for the rest of my days.
I have had the good days, I’ve had the bad days, I’ve even had days that are completely insignificant one way or another.
I have missed him, I have hated him, I have forgiven him, I have even wondered if he was ever even real at all, and if this was some kind of weird Matrix thing.
It’s been four years of that.
That’s long enough to get a Bachelor’s degree, or get through High School.
That’s long enough for the Olympics and Presidential elections to circle back around.
That’s long enough to go from the womb into pre-school.
Sometimes it seems so long. Other times it seems like no time has passed at all. (Again with the weird Matrix thing!)
Often times, it feels like everything has changed, yet it also seems like nothing has.
Widowhood is weird. Processing suicide as their manner of death is also weird.
Any death is hard, but I can only speak on being a suicide widow.
And I have been able to do so for four years now…
Time moves forward, and so do we.
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