I Don’t Know What To Tell You: grief week 8

Here is the awful, horrible truth of being the living one,  left behind.   I liked myself better when I was with Sam.

It’s not just that we got along well,  because we didn’t always.   I got tired of his paranoia,  his fights of faith and logic,  and then there was always the miscommunications that go along with being deaf and blind.   But I liked who I was around him.  I was needed.  I was useful.  I was his queen of the faye.  And even though my father had told me I wasn’t fair enough to be one of the faye (by which everyone assumes he meant I wasn’t pretty enough,  because I was the smart one.   My sister and mom were the pretty ones… he always talked about beauty like it was a disease… topic for another time), I could believe that Sam thought i was beautiful. My ex told me I wasn’t before we split up.   I chose to believe  Sam who had to judge me through poor vision and heightened sixth sense. That made me like a real fairy,  I thought.   So it all worked,  and I read not only beautiful,  but I lived in a dream world with a hobbit… when we went going to work or the shrink or the audiologist.   I had a man who loved magic and believed the myth,  and I felt like a queen in my home.  Nor just a queen,  but a fairy queen.

You can read all about chat in the other blog we wrote together:  adeafinthefamily.com but the point is,  I’m not the queen of the faye anymore.  I don’t have magic or a hobbit,  and I’m not beautiful.  I’m old and I don’t even like myself all that much.   I used to really like me and my life. I still have kids and they still call on me from time to time,  but they probably don’t “need” me anymore.  No one needs me,  really.   Even the cat would be okay if I weren’t here.

I suppose people who lose children feel the same sort of loss. Who am I without that child?  Am i still a mother?  Am i the same sort of mother?

It’s not that I’m suicidal.  I’m not.   But I’m not content with my life either.  I do miss who I was with Sam,  but I am not going to get that back.   While I think I’m doing okay,  I’m still not sure I’m a better person now than I was then.  I just know more.

I miss that me.  I wish I could find a me I loved without Sam or the new hubby or anyone else.   Maybe that’s not the point of life and living.  Maybe you can only feel whole if you feel vital to someone else.  I don’t know what to tell you about that,  except I know I’m not there with my new husband.

It’s taken so long to get where I am with the new Significant Other, and i know it’s not where i was with Sam. People tell me not to compare or measure it like that,  but how can i not?

I don’t know.