On the 2nd of May 2022 I will have been widowed for four years, I was 38 at the time. Even writing that now seems surreal. The plans we had made together for celebrating 40ths, were out the window and instead I found myself planning a funeral.
For many months after the death of my husband, I felt like I was walking around in a twilight zone. Somehow, I was functioning, I continued working, I kept going, I was regularly complimented on my strength and my appearance. I looked well on the outside probably due to the weight I had lost and my refashion of sunbeds (the use of sunbeds would have peeved my late husband). Eventually all the adrenaline that had been keeping me going for months and months had found a way out of my body and was escaping like steam from a boiling kettle. I was left feeling like a deflated balloon.
There was no adrenaline left to reinflate that balloon, no matter how hard I tried to fill it, there were too many holes. I had to slow down and accept what had happened. Take my time and patch myself up on my own. Steven was no longer around to support me; I didn’t have his extra pair of hands to help me anymore and the realisation of being widowed and a single mum was sinking in.
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