Love and Loss

My love for Brian has not gone away just because he died.  In fact, there are days that it seems painfully stronger.  His death has made me remember the good times, and somehow the bad days have faded away and become an insignificant part of my life.  Of course, when you remember only the good, and not the bad, then all of a sudden it seems impossible to move forward with your life, because how in the world can you move forward without this perfect person beside you?  It is true, love doesn't die.  When there is true love involved, the loss of that love is overwhelming.  Not only have I endured the loss of  the love of my life, my best friend, and father of my children, there are "incidental" losses as well.  The loss of seeing and hearing him laugh, the loss of holding his hand, the loss of sweet kisses.  The loss of my freedom to come and go as I please.  The loss of life as I knew it.  Right now I am facing another "incidental" loss.  It is looming larger than life, and is not something that I can stop.  I have to sell the chiropractic practice that we worked so hard to build over the years.  I finally have a buyer, though due to the actions of my former associate, I am forced to sell it for significantly less than I was asking.  I thought it would be a relief to have it sold.  It isn't.  I am deeply saddened by this loss.  Saddened because I am losing of a huge part of not only who Brian was, but who I was as well.  

After Brian was diagnosed with his cancer we both went to a cancer psychologist at the hospital, sometimes together, sometimes individually.  At one point, I was very frustrated with the way life was going (at this point Brian had no evidence of disease) so I went to see him by myself.  I remember him saying to me that I had three roles in my life, wife and mother, caretaker and business partner.  He told me that that was two to many.  He said to me "You obviously aren't going to give up being a wife and mother, so you need to let Brian do some of his own appointment making and you need to stop being as involved in the practice as you are."  Of course, being who I am, I didn't quit doing anything I had been doing and trudged forward with a smile on my face.  Here I am, 5 years out from that conversation and I am forced to do exactly what he recommended.  I am no longer a caretaker, that loss happened when Brian died, and now, with selling the practice I will no longer have our business.  I am no longer a wife, I am just a mother of four great kids.

Selling the practice is like another death.  I feel like I am losing my home.  When the verbal agreement was made, I walked through the clinic from room to room and cried.  So much of who we were and the things we loved are painted into the walls there.  I loved working there.  I loved working with my husband (well, MOST of the time!) and getting to spend time with him that most couples never get the chance to do.  I loved taking our babies to work with us.  I loved telling people what a great Chiropractor Brian was.  Love makes loss so much more painful, and this hurts, it hurts a lot.

Now that I am almost down to one role, MOM, I have to figure out what to do with it and my time.  I am going to start by doing something that I have always wanted to do, but couldn't because I was too busy with Brian and the clinic - volunteer in my kids classrooms.  I now have the opportunity to be the mom that I always imagined I'd be and the mom that my kids deserve.  My kids love me.  I need to try to remember that the losses I have had can not take away the love that they give.  I need to soak up that love and let it fill me up in those times when I feel overwhelmed by the loss.  Even with the losses I have had, I believe as I wind my way through not only widowhood, but now unemployment, that I will find a path that will lead me somewhere beautiful.