Thoughts On A Life Upended

There is no one at home to speak my name anymore.  Names for me often included Sweetheart, Trent, Love, My Person, Honey, Sexy Man… Now there’s silence.

I used to be your Sous-Chef – the kitchen was your domain. I was so proud at how happy you were with the way the kitchen came together after we bought the house; I was your handyman when I made that happen.

I used to be someone who would notice the little things and share them with you throughout the day – a photo here, a text there.  I used to be someone who smiled every time I received a selfie from you.

I used to be a hopeless romantic, who swept you off your feet with a fun vacation in Florida where we visited the sea turtles and watched thunderstorms out over the ocean from our hotel room. You told your mother after that trip that you were going to marry me, and just a few months later I proposed.

I used to be someone who was fundamentally content with life. There were always things to do or improvements to make or goals to work on, but things were at the root, good.

I used to be someone who had a roadmap. Although life didn’t often unfold exactly as I may have pictured it or planned out, I knew where I was going and why. There were detours, but I got to my checkpoints eventually. 

And now… there is no one at home to speak my name. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing. My roadmap has been incinerated.  

Not only am I grieving for you, but I’m also grieving a little bit for who I was when I was with you.

I’ve never been someone who espoused the belief that anyone needs another person to be whole, to be complete. But so much of who we are involves those we interact with on a daily basis. You were my world for four years. Four wonderful, amazing years. Now that you’re gone, I don’t know who I am – you became such an integral part of my world and of my very being, and now you are gone.

It is impossible for me to continue being the same person I was when I was with you. Now I have to figure out what parts of me continue on, and how to continue being here without you, and without parts of me. I don’t understand it. I don’t want this to be my reality, but here I am.

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Note: this was written based on a writing prompt provided to me through a paid course I am taking. I am not including the prompt, because the daily prompts are a critical component of that course.