Things I can’t do

I have come to realise I’m a jealous person. For all my positivity I have a burning to desire to have more, do more, see more, experience more.

Very often this drives me. I want to do everything. My life is filled with … life. I am often likely to burn out because of this. I like to think I’m good at self regulating, until a plate smashes to the floor. Today I found myself jealous. And not of a trip to Mexico, or a theatre ticket I can’t afford. But something small. Herein lies an uncharacteristic rant.

I can’t take a nap if I have a headache. In fact I can’t have a headache at all. It’s rare for me to be sick.

I can’t be sick.

5 years of living with someone who is more sick than me has given me a lack of perspective when it comes to illness. Or maybe I’ve just been lucky. But I do wonder what would happen if I was ill.

I can’t be late.

Ok, I am late. All the time. But it’s hard. Getting ready for school in the morning is what most parents have nightmares about. I’m irritable before the day even starts. Those last 20 minutes where all that needs to happen is shoes to be put on flies by in some warped montage of homework gripes, a letter I haven’t responded to, a book unread… and I don’t have anyone to help me. Every time I need to leave the house I imagine everyone having just what they need at the right time.

I can’t lie in. Even if I have the chance, on one of those days where the girls are sleeping over, I wake up at 6:30, eyes wide and waiting for the next event. This is related to…

I can’t relax.

I can’t prioritise.

I have days where I think I can’t do life (and not in an I’m-going-to-kill-myself way) But I carry on regardless. I plough through my unending list of tasks. Willing the end of the day to come around, only so I can wonder about the list of things I haven’t done.

But this is what drives me. This is what keeps me going. Should I change? Do I need to re-evaluate? Do I need to go to a meditation class? Learn to slow down my life? Probably. The thought fills me with dread. I simply don’t have time.

I can’t stop.

On Friday I stopped. I stared at a painting in a quiet room. My favourite space in the world. I look at the painting and realise I am drawn to the activity within the stillness. I can see the strokes of the brush. I can feel the artist moving across the room, looking, adding, looking again, waiting for the point where the painting is finished and it’s ready to be seen.

I am painting. A rich canvass that is layered with texture and colour.

I can’t finish the painting.

It’s not ready.

Finding myself single

I’m staring at a form. It doesn’t have the box I need.

At first I didn’t like being labelled a widow. It conjures up images of pottering around. Dusting old frames of manilla wedding photos and children long since grown. Having embraced the community of young widows (and older ones too) I realise this label is truthful, honest. It says “I loved someone once, now they are gone.”

Now, I am longing to tick that box.

I was forced to let go of married early. An innocent question from a confused 7 year old. “What about your wedding ring? Are you still married?” Only a day. Out of the mouth of a child too young for the words. I still feel married, I tell her. “And when you take it off will that mean you will marry someone else?”

Oh those words. Would I ever meet someone else? How could I. Who could compare? When you have loved so deep and given so much of yourself… would there be anything left to give another? My mind raced and I struggled to quiet the panic. One day at a time, one step.

I removed my ring a couple of days later. Placing it carefully in the box alongside my delicate engagement ring. I closed it gently, placing that part of me on the shelf. I rub the indent on my finger, staring at its nakedness.

Only a few months ago single didn’t feel like an option. A denial of the most significant part of my life, the implication so hugely opposed to the complexity of my situation. I may be without a partner, but the day to day responsibilities don’t translate to the freedom and carefree inference of single-dom.

Single suggests available. I am not. I may seek company. I’m alone. Not lonely, but I am made to love. My cup has been refilled. Am I ready to give again? I may.

The confusion between missing him, his touch, his live, his smile. I cannot allow myself to seek this just anywhere. How can I bring another into this impossible situation? How can I erase the past, not only for my sake, but for my children. Would another be jealous to see his photo there in the wall, so intrinsically part of the family it’s immovable. Can another be placed alongside his. Would that even be fair?

Yet something inside me has awakened. Not only a longing for something past, but a quiet willingness, a wanting to share. Am I ready to give again? I may.