David, I think I'm the opposite of you at this moment. I'm imagining a future and I'm kicking myself for not doing something to change my situation sooner.

Ginger's experience parallels mine right now, though my realization has come in months rather than years. And now I'm pissed that I didn't have the nerve to do what should have been done. Which of course makes me feel guilty because I'm not mourning him properly or something. We were moving back towards the good place after his cancer diagnosis, but both of us slid into old habits and couldn't let go of the hurt. Of course, his death whitewashes a lot of that and I miss what could have been much more than what we had.

Regrets are a marker of a life lived, but I'd rather my epitaph say that I never wished for a different life. Right now, I can't say that. I'm beginning to think that happy is a myth.

Brackets for Maria and meara and sj and anyone else who wants them. I hate that I'm constantly skimming and then posting hastily, because I'm pretty much only here for my half hour lunch, but please know that I'm nodding along and supporting. Maria and sj and meara, may your parenting dreams come true, even if they take an unexpected form.

Basically, I feel like I'm a bad widow.

Basically, I feel like I'm a bad widow.

You're wrestling with the truth. Your marriage wasn't perfect. I gotta respect the willingness to delve into the hard shit, and sort through it.

You're an honest widow.

Remembering him honestly, both good and bad, honors him as a whole person, and not as some idealized version of himself.

It's tough because society expects me to be a certain way. Italian society in particular. And yes, I know I shouldn't give a shit, but I can't help but care just a bit. It also doesn't help that I feel like I'm living up to his parents' opinion that I'm a money-grubbing bitch who never loved their son.

He's the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last before I go to sleep, but I'm now seeing how miserable I really was. It feels like my second chance, and I don't want my husband's freaking death to be that.

Basically, I feel like I'm a bad widow.

Not to contradict your feelings, but you're not. You're dealing, and dealing awfully well from my perspective.

Remembering him honestly, both good and bad, honors him as a whole person, and not as some idealized version of himself.

And I wrote a whole clumsy paragraph trying to say exactly that.

He's the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last before I go to sleep, but I'm now seeing how miserable I really was. It feels like my second chance, and I don't want my husband's freaking death to be that.

And it shouldn't be. By rights, he should have made it through so that you guys could work on the core issues and find your way back to each other with mutual second chances.

Unfortunately, many deeply unfortunate and tragic life events effectively become chances to take stock of and move forward in your life. No matter how awful it feels.

It also doesn't help that I feel like I'm living up to his parents' opinion that I'm a money-grubbing bitch who never loved their son.

I... I'm sorry. I know they loved their son like crazy and must have been sick with grief from the moment it happened, but there is not enough NO in the world for how utterly removed from reality this is. The reality of you, of him, of your history and relationship. I'm sitting here shaking with defensive, protective, ragetastic rage on your behalf.