It's still a boulder...

A friend recently urged me to watch a movie. I haven't watched it yet (but I fully intend to). Just in case I never get around to it, he typed the dialogue of a few scenes out for me.

It resonated deep.

DAUGHTER: Does it ever go away?

MOTHER: What?

DAUGHTER: This feeling.

MOTHER: No. I don't think it does. Not for me it hasn't. And that's goin' on eleven years.
(beat)
It changes though.

DAUGHTER: How?

MOTHER: I don't know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and carry around - like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: "Oh right. That." Which can be awful. But not all the time.

Sometimes it's kinda... Not that you like it exactly, but it's what you have instead of your son, so you don't wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn't go away, which is...

DAUGHTER: What?

MOTHER: Fine...actually.

I can't say that I've forgotten for even the briefest moment. But just when I think I'm doing so well, and this "thing" might be turning into more of a brick, little things creep up, just to remind me that it's still a big ugly boulder.

A holiday passes...

A memory surfaces...

Jocee asks if Daddy's flying that plane overhead, or if he misses her, or if he likes being away from her...



And I'm right back under that boulder, all over again. Crushed and gasping for air.



I still miss him so much, it leaves a physical ache. I think it's safe to say that the three of us do.


I love Ben.

That is all.

18 Months

I remember when I was living by the minute; when thinking 18 days ahead of me just couldn't be done. Sometimes I would wonder where I was going to be at the 18 month mark, but that was usually followed by the beginnings of a panic attack (and lots of deep breathing). Just remembering that shock and heartache brings tears to my eyes. I never want to feel like that again, and yet I hope to never ever forget it.

BUT I'm not there anymore. (Remember? :))

I've been slowly building myself up from ground zero. Where I am right now is such a better place to be. It's a huge deal; one worth celebrating. Sure, I might be a little more flighty (and a lot more new-agey), but I'm more grounded at the same time too.

For so long I haven't been able to see very far ahead of me. I remember posting about plans being useless. They just get..."put on hold." This moment is all that matters, and I still believe that. But guess what?? I'm starting to make those plans again, and it's freeing; not scary. The future is brightening again. Going back to school feels doable (and exciting). Single parenting doesn't feel as daunting. There are so many unknowns, but they don't feel intimidating anymore.

I feel myself growing into more of what I've always meant to be (knowing I'm not totally there yet either). I only wish that Ben got to see some of it during his lifetime. I catch myself still apologizing to him for the other me; for depending on him so much, for expecting inhuman things.

The hurt is still there. Little things can still creep up and blindside me. Like two weeks ago when I broke down, as I realized just how much I miss his feet. He seriously had (/has) the cutest, perfect feet... And I miss the way he thought mine were cute too. But those moments aren't derailing anymore. I don't have to post about it as much. It's a lot like T. Thorpe said, "You won't ever get over the grief. You'll just learn how to manage it."

So today it has been 18 months. It's a big milestone, and I feel okay. I'm not a useless lump of human stuck on autopilot. The best part is knowing how proud he is of me. I feel him smiling at me, sometimes laughing with me. He's still my very best friend.

I'm going to continue to make him smile. I'm going to be the mother our babies deserve. I'm going to become the me that I've been meaning to be. And I'm going to be happy doing it.

(Note to anyone who gets this: Today's hawk count: 5!!)

I love Ben.
:)

Not there anymore.

Lately I've felt stagnant and frustrated. Ben has been gone for 17 months, and on the surface there hasn't been any real progression. The three of us are still living with my parents, and I have yet to go back to school. I wonder if I'm grieving fast enough. Am I subconsciously choosing to hold myself back??

But less than 2 weeks ago, I was able to get rid of those wasted emotions.

While in UT, T. Thorpe and I did our usual. ---We went for energy massages from one of my favorite people (then we hit up a health food store, got some soy ice cream & got caught up on our shows. Ha!!). Anyway, I've known this favorite for 5 or 6 years now. And in the more recent months she has tried to remind me of how...okay and "together" I am. Something she said finally stuck with me.

"You've been so hurt, but you've sorted through so much. I know you've been through the, 'It wasn't supposed to be this way.' Feeling angry because you weren't supposed to be a single parent with these girls. I'm sure at one point you didn't even want to exist. You wanted to disappear. But you're not there anymore."

Tears instantly fell. Because even though I never told her, she knew and she was right.

I'm not there anymore.

And so even though I may still have days when I feel overwhelmed and a little defeated, those emotions are of little consequence. Rather I can look at all of those things that may be invisible to everyone but me, and know...I have come a long way.

Where I am right at this very moment is perfect (and obviously not forever).

21 Oct 2009

(DISCLAIMER: This is long. I won't care if no one ever reads it.)

I've thought about that day, every single day for the last year.

I remember waking up tired, hoping the day would go by fast.

Sophie cried out, "Daddyyyy!" and Ben quickly went to her. I was glad that he did. Getting out of bed was hard. It was cloudy outside, and I didn't like it.

Ben left for work. I gave the girls their baths and breakfast. While they watched cartoons, I quickly mopped the floors.

He came home soon after I had started his laundry. I asked him if he liked the way the new floor cleaner smelled. It was supposed to smell like lavender. He had hated the lemony stuff I was using before. He shrugged indifferently and told me he was going to take a nap.

Later I went upstairs with the first load of clean laundry to put away. He was sitting in bed with the laptop. We smiled at each other while I started folding.

He mentioned that the owner of the offending plane wanted to start flying again.
The plane has just had work done, and it was ready to be flown again.
And so this...gentleman....(whom I have not heard from since)....wanted to fly again.

I sat down at the desktop and quickly responded to a few emails.
He told me I looked cute.
I rolled my eyes.
He just smiled.

I went downstairs and got busy with babies and more Ben laundry. I can't remember most of that day. But I do remember when he left. He came downstairs and put his shoes on. He explained where he was going. He was going to fly the plane from Provo to Spanish Fork and come right home. He told me he'd be back before dinner.

We weakly said, "Bye," as he walked out the door. He'd be home soon.


At 4:00 pm I started feeling agitated. Maybe he was on his way back. I wanted to call him, but couldn't find my phone.

I looked at the clock at 4:12 pm, right before I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I just reminded myself that he'd be home soon. I washed my face and looked in the mirror. I decided some makeup would make me feel better.

By 5:54 pm I decided dinner was going to happen without him. Jocee asked for eggs so I went along with it.

I was in the middle of scrambling when Breaking News came on at 6:00 pm.

Both girls started crying, so I only heard key points.

• Single engine plane crash...
• Provo airport...
• After 4:00 pm...
• Pilot killed....
• No one else on board...
• Believed to be a local pilot...
• People are sad...

• Family needs to be notified.

Quietly I said to myself, "Ben that is not you. You are not leaving me. You're coming home to tell me what that loser did wrong." I wondered if Ben saw the crash. Wouldn't he call me?? All the facts started to sink in. But it had to be wrong.

I gave the girls dinner.
And then I panicked.
I ran upstairs and checked KSL.
What if I was Family? What if this pilot didn't have a name yet because they had to tell me first?

I came downstairs and started pacing. My phone was on the TV stand. I called Ben. No answer.


And then there was the gentle tap on the door.
I opened it, and saw a young cop with a woman to his left.

All I could say was, "My husband is dead."
[His eyes widened as he took a step back.]
"So that thing I just saw is wrong. I'm not the family. He's okay?!"

The cop asked to come in. He never said the words. He just nodded, and apologized. The woman who was with him, explained that she was a grief counselor. She offered to make phone calls for me, but I told her not to.

I called my parents first. (I hung up before they could ask questions.)
Then Ben's dad.
Then his youngest sister.

I was glad she was too shocked to react. Maybe that meant this was all just a sick joke. Everyone would be mad at me when Ben came home. She offered to make the rest of the phone calls for me, and I agreed. I didn't want to hear anyone cry.

Another sister called. She was so hysterical that I couldn't fully understand her. I decided that if she was upset then it had to be real.

I remember so clearly watching several people with tear-filled faces, dressed in pilot uniforms approach the door and come inside. They somberly introduced themselves; some hugged me. They had known 2 hours longer than I did. I wondered why they could cry and I couldn't.

A lot of people came over that night. When most left I tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't start. I wondered if there was something wrong with me. Did it mean I didn't care?

I didn't sleep at all. I couldn't wrap my mind around the concept of Ben leaving mortality. I spent most of that first night in the bathroom. And when I wasn't, I replayed the day's events over and over and over.

I wish I didn't do any laundry.
I wish I cuddled with him instead.
I wish I told him how much I love him and always will.

I wish I stopped him from leaving.
I wish I came up with a reason for him to stay home.
I wish I let the air out of his tires.

I still wish he never walked out that door. He took so much of me with him.

"I just can't believe it."

It's a phrase that I've repeated to myself, countless times throughout these last...11 months, 1 week, and 4 days.

• In the beginning I couldn't believe Fox13, 6:00pm breaking news. Quietly I said to myself, "Ben, that is not you. You are not leaving me. You're coming home to tell me what that loser did wrong."

(Little did I know, this would be the first of many seemingly one-sided conversations.)

• Nine days later I pretended a box was empty.

• Two weeks in, I couldn't believe I was packing his things, and leaving a place we called home.

• One month in, I couldn't believe I was still alive. I was so sure I'd die too... of a broken heart.

• Two months in, I couldn't believe what a bad relocation choice I had made.

• Six months in, I couldn't believe that people who I thought would be an unwavering fixture in my girls lives, are not.

• Seven months in, (and the day after our 6th wedding anniversary) I couldn't believe that trusting the wrong people could lead to so much irreversible damage.

• 10 months in, I couldn't believe he wasn't turning 31.

And right this moment, I just can't believe that October is here again.
I can't believe I will soon have survived a year without him here; especially THAT year.

BUT....

• I can believe my grief counselor, when she tells me how well I'm doing.
• I can believe how amazing it feels to resist that natural pull to be bitter. In so many ways, beauty compensates for the ugly.
• I can believe that I am stronger than I ever gave myself credit for; and potentially stronger than I have yet to realize. (And my intuition is pretty freakin' amazing. :))
• I can believe that Ben still plays an active roll in my life, and helps me in more ways than I can comprehend.
• I can believe that I am a good mother to the two sweetest little girls on the planet.

I can believe that I can do this.

(NOTE: The next post will be more light-hearted. Pinky promise!)

The First Two Years

My parents met in Salt Lake City... She was from Thousand Oaks, California (attending LDS Business College), and he was from Sharon, Massachusetts (working for a friend's coin selling business). They met at their singles ward. Pretty cliche.

Every time they go to Salt Lake, nostalgia overtakes them. I remember when my dad took me out to Idaho for the first time. We spent a day in SLC. It seemed so important to him to show me everything he could. He showed me their first apartment building, the mall Mom shopped at, Crown Burger, Ensign Peek.... At the time I was annoyed. Why was he so enthusiastic about a place they spent only 3 years at??

Years later when my parents came out to visit us, I teased my dad about their usual site-seeing. His response always stuck with me. "Ginny, this is where we started out. Who knows? Maybe one day you and Ben will look back on your time here in Utah, and feel the way we do."

At the time I disagreed completely. We were living in a small two-bedroom apartment in Orem. I was working at an awful call center while Ben was trying to finish flight school. We had future hopes of Oregon (him) or Northern California (me). In my mind there would be nothing to miss. Our future was bright and full of promise.


And now, four years later, Dad was right.

I miss that little apartment.
(turquoise carpeting, drafty widows, loud upstairs neighbors, and all)
I miss running mundane errands together.
I miss him surprising me with lunch at work.
I miss cuddling on our couches when they were new.
I miss coming home to unexpected peach roses or Gerber daisies.
I miss the way he would quote movies for days after we rented them.
I miss those days when we were soo tired that we fell asleep in bed by 8:00.

I miss all of it....the good, and the bad alike.
Because really, the sad wasn't that awful, and the happy was euphoric.

I'd give anything to go back to those years. Lately it's all I think about each night as I try to fall asleep. And yet, at that time I was so consumed with wanting more. I doubt I ever fully appreciated how sweet my life was.

I will never make this mistake again. I couldn't if I tried. That idealistic part of me that wanted everything perfect is now gone. It's a lesson learned the really really really hard way.

The Heating Pad

So, I have tendinitis in both knees...
My right knee is way worse than my left...
It doesn't bother me often...
But when it flares up, the pain can get pretty intense (occasionally unbearable).

But that's not my point....

Whenever my knees started hurting, Ben would play knight in shining armor and come to my rescue. As soon as I'd tell him, he would make me comfortable on the couch (as if I were helpless). Then he would get the ibuprofen, my favorite juice, and the heating pad.

He would plug that heating pad in, adjust the setting, and wrap it securely and comfortably around the offending knee.

And then he would rent a movie that we would watch together on the couch (mostly his choice). I can't remember what movie we watched last time. But I do remember that my knee felt much better by the end of it.
I remember how grateful I was, too.

Just this week that tendinitis has decided to flare up...again.
But this time I plugged that heating pad in....all by myself...
I went and got my own ibuprofen, and water...

I went back to the couch, and tried several times to wrap the pad just the way Ben used to. Those tears that I'm sick of, started when I realized that I couldn't.

I cried even harder when I realized I forgot a pillow, that there was no guy movie waiting to be watched, and I was sitting on a different couch, in a different house 3,000 miles away from the other.

I only continued to sob when I realized how long it has been. After nearly 10 months I still can't fathom just how final this is.
And I still don't want to.

Homeless

Disclaimer: The trip to Utah was much needed and more fun than not. But since a few people expressed jealousy on the good old FB, I decided to show some of my ugly. Really, I'm the last person to be deserving of such a wasted emotion.

Jocee and I had been looking forward to this trip for 10 weeks.
I had been looking forward to this very weekend for six months.

At 9 1/2 months in, I'm almost used to unexpected emotions surfacing at the most inopportune/awkward/unexpected times. So none of this should have been a shock, but it was.

The final flight touched down in Salt Lake City at 4:30 pm. Tears welled in my eyes as soon as I could see the mountains. I didn't realize just how much I had missed them. They remind me of Ben; I don't know anyone else who hiked (or backpacked, or camped, or fished) them more.

The last time I had landed here was in August; almost a year ago. I had both girls in tow. Ben was the one picking us up...to take us home. And now Ben wouldn't be waiting at baggage claim to hug me more tightly than he had in weeks. This thought nearing leveled me.

I got our things from baggage claim by myself. All 5'2" of me must have made lugging 1 suitcase, 1 car seat, 2 carry-ons, and 1 three-year-old in an umbrella stroller look easy. Not a single...gentleman...offered to help. Knowing that Ben would have never let this happen, I angrily concluded that... All the good men aren't taken. They're dead.

Oh but seriously, I should have had someone take a picture. I have a whole system worked out should this same scenario play out in the future. I really did look like like I knew what I was doing.

The drive to Springville was sobering. Each exit off the freeway brought a memory. And yet this place no longer felt like home. Things that were once so familiar felt so foreign; like a distant dream I just woke up from. I asked myself when this had happened, and I didn't like the answer.

It happened that day the news caught my attention; that day a cop softly knocked on my door to try to tell me something I didn't want to be true. In that moment, the townhome we were renting was no longer home. And I haven't had that feeling since.

In so many ways that man was my anchor.
In the last...almost 10 months I've been essentially homeless.
When I made the horrid decision to stay there, I was desperately clinging to whatever I thought I still had. But instead I learned some lessons the hard way, and ended up three thousand miles away regardless.

And even now, living with my parents in the place I spent most of my life, that feeling of home is still missing. It's gone, and I may not ever have it back.

Ben was my home.
Ben was my anchor.
Ben was my safe place to land.

I love him, and I miss him; more than I could ever convey.

Whooped

Right now I remember it perfectly...
June 2003

I was sitting on the couch in the apartment living room, talking to Ben on my little "ghetto brick" Nokia phone (like usual). Monica came out from her room. She had just ended a phone conversation with some random guy (pretty sure his name was Tyler).

Monica: "He just said that the best part of his day is talking to me..."
Me: [covering the phone with one hand] "Awe, he's just as whipped as Ben."

Ben: "Babe, I prefer the term, whooped."
Me: "Oh... You heard that. Sorry! You're not annoyed that I told them you're whipped, are you?"
Ben: "Nope, because I'm completely WHOOPED over you. You are gorgeous and funny and smart. And I am so lucky."
Me: "Ben, seriously..."
Benny: "I can keep going..."...


When I think about him, my mind most easily goes to moments like these; those first moments when I fell in love with him.

I miss that boy.
The one with the most comforting voice and infectious laugh...
The one who would drive 4 hours each way, just to see my un-made-up face...
The one who would go hiking, and call me just so he could proclaim his love from a mountain (no exaggeration)...
The one who always had to hold my hand...
The one who would get so sentimental over the smallest things...
The one who carried my picture in his wallet so proudly...
The one who so eagerly told everyone he knew how excited he was to start his life with me...
The boy who treated me like his greatest treasure...

I miss him.
And I miss the way I felt around him.

Look Alike

Last night...
(while on the phone with T. Thorpe)
T: "This is totally random and off-subject... But isn't it so weird when you have two friends who look the same?"
G: "Yeah. But it's pretty rare. Ben once saw his look-alike at some airport...in Vegas, I think. He said the guy looked just like him, but a little shorter."
T: "How do you think you would react if you saw Ben's look-alike now?"
G: "Oh, that'll never happen!"
T: "You should really think about that, because at some point I'm sure it will."

Today
I saw him...grocery shopping.

I was making my way back over to the almond milk; I needed just one more half gallon. He was standing at a freezer retrieving some random food item. He was maybe 10 feet away when I stopped, unable to take another step.

The likenesses were bewildering.

• Hair color (and cut)
  
• Complexion
  
• 5-o-clock shadow
  
• Glasses
• Side profile
• Mannerisms
• Stance
• Walk

Even his outfit reminded me of Ben; that same olive green button-down shirt and khaki cargo pants. It was all much too similar.

In a matter of seconds my mind flooded with incoherent thoughts.
Not my Benny!
Not my Benny!
Ashes in the ground in Springville.
Benny, I wish it were you. I wish you were here in that way. I'd run to you and jump in your arms, and you wouldn't let me go either...

I quickly turned down some random aisle like it was deliberate, and tried to look interested in whatever was before me. My mind was completely blank. I forgot why I was there, and what I was there for.

I counted the months since the plane crash, 7 & 1/2.
If October 21st went differently, I wouldn't be shopping for almond milk, because I wouldn't know what it is. I wouldn't be vegan, because my stomach wouldn't be a chronic mess. I wouldn't be at this grocery store....3,000 miles away.

Those familiar, immature "Why?" questions resurfaced.
I loath them; useless and unproductive. Even if I could get their answers, it wouldn't change anything. My reality remains the same.


I have days when I wake up and feel normal. I make a mental inventory of the things to get done. I feel confident that I can accomplish it all, hopeful for this day ahead.
And then something simple happens, and I realize that I am not. This grief is ugly, and I have yet to fully conquer it. Whatever my new normal is, I haven't found it yet.

Titanium

I took his wedding ring out of the box for the first time today.
A wave of emotion overcame me...just like I knew it would.

Ben wore it constantly. He was never without it. And in those rare moments when he did take it off, a perfect tan-line was left behind.

We were married a month when it got it's first scratch. He had been working on the car. At first he was annoyed with himself. But then he looked at me and said, "So what if it gets dinged up? I like it. It just shows that I wear it all the time, and that I like being married to you."

And so for the first time, I held it in my hands and studied all the little marks; 5 years, 5 months, and 4 hours worth of wear.
Too short.

I can't help but want to hand it back to him. I want him to put it back on, so he can cover that silly tan-line. There should be more scratches, more stories, more memories.
I want it all back.

And tomorrow, he would have worn it for six years.
Six years is too short.

I want my Love back.
I want my life back.
I want it all back.

Still in My Head

A memory has haunted me.
I've cried myself to sleep more times than I'd like to admit.
But it's one I hope to never forget, and so I'll put it here.

6 April 2007


Neither of us had slept the night before.
Ben was too excited to meet the third member of our little family.
I had spent the night wishing, hoping, and praying for spontaneous labor. I had tried everything and this baby wasn't coming out on her own. A c-section was certain.

When we got there, he wanted to take one last picture of my profile with my enormous belly. He told me to smile, and laughed as he snapped the photo. (I now understand why. Despite my efforts, I couldn't mask the look of terror on my face.)

Why wouldn't my body just do what it was supposed to?
Was I taking the easy way out?
Was this a big mistake?
What if I waited just 7 more days?
Ugh, did I really have to wear that frumpy hospital gown?

I remember watching Ben put on his haz-mat attire, thinking he had this so easy. I envied him. Why did he get to have a baby without needing to undergo some sort of surgery, too?

Walking into the OR felt like walking death row. They wouldn't let Ben go in with me. All I wanted was for him to be the one holding my hand while they finished prepping me.

And then Ben walked in and sat in a chair near my head. He cupped my face in his hands. He told me that the curtain was too low as he leaned in next to me, and rested his cheek next to mine; left hand still stroking my right cheek.

The surgery started and then I heard the Doctor say, "Ginny, are you ready for this?! You're going to be a mom real soon!"

And then we heard what we had waited for; our baby's first cry. It was strong and clear and more beautiful than we could have ever imagined. Simultaneously we started crying together. Ben wet my face with his tears as he quietly repeated, "Mama! That's our little girl! She's our little girl!"

I heard one of the nurses call out, "She looks good! She's really cute! 8 pounds, 11 ounces!!"
The other doctor said, "That's what I was going to guess when we got her out. 8, 11..."
My doctor reassured me, "Ginny, that was the best decision you could have made."

And then Ben was sitting in that chair next to me, holding Jocelyn, and still weeping tears of joy. I remember him saying, "She is so beautiful. You did such a good job, Mama. Thank you for our little Jocee."



Ben continued to hold Jocee for nearly the remainder of that day. He left the hospital only to sleep, and stayed with us for the majority of our stay.
I couldn't have asked for a better daddy for our girls.

Dear Me...

Sometimes I look back on mistakes I've made and I can't help but laugh. More often than not, I was too stubborn and determined to listen to anyone. And yet I wonder if I would have listened to myself. My future self; the one who knows where these decisions will lead me.

I want to tell this girl...

The one who just graduated from high school, and is finding herself confused at a university in the middle of no where...
The girl that can't make up her mind, and is switching majors as often as she straightens her hair...
I want to tell her to listen to her parents (along with every English teacher that she has ever had) and pursue writing.
~
I want to tell this girl...

The one who just started dating this sweet boy...

I want to tell her to NOT listen to her parents. They don't know what she knows.
I want to tell her to listen to every bit of intuition she has ever been given. There is no time for doubt.
I want to tell her to just say "YES!" the first time he proposes.
I want to tell her to get married sooner, like she wants to.
I want to tell her that there is not time to waste.
~
I want to tell this girl...

The one who is half way through her first pregnancy...
I want to convey to her, all of the joy she is about the experience.
I want to tell her that she will bear each scar with pride.
~
And someday I hope to be able to tell this girl...

The one who just lost her sweet husband...
The girl who at times feels more lost and grief stricken than words can express...

Someday, I want her to be able to see the big picture perfectly.
Someday, I want her to fully understand that these tears, and longing are for but a small moment.
Someday, I want to be able to tell her that this was all so very worth it.

How I Feel

...because no one seems to understand.

Most days I feel like an island.

I hate that I cannot find anyone who has gone through exactly what I am in the midst of. I look around and there is not a single soul that I can fully relate to. Most widows and widowers are in a much older age range. Those who are my age are far and few between, and circumstances are never similar.

Many people have either asked questions or said things that have left me unsettled and speechless. I do not believe that any of them have been ill-intentioned. But at times it has been shocking.
In response to these silly questions...
~
I'm 26 years old.

I have two little girls under the age of 3.

I was married to my life's love for 5 years, 5 months, & 4 hours.

My husband (who is the best, best friend that I've ever had) was completely healthy.

My husband (who I planned on spending the rest of this life with) was a skilled, meticulous, cautious pilot.

My husband (who I love with my whole being) left for work one day, never to return home.

But he did not leave our family on his own accord (and I know that he never would).
~
Benjamin David Hill is a husband, father, brother, uncle, son, friend, & pilot whom can never be replaced. There is a void in this world that will never be filled in his absence.

I know perfectly that he still loves me.

I know I will be with him again.
I look forward to that day.
And when that day is here, I hope he is proud of what I have become.
~
I miss him terribly. It's an emptiness like nothing else.
And I know that I miss him most.

I want to be okay on my own; although I don't know how or when I'll get there.

No, I do not like being a single parent.
Especially when I feel tired, sick, drained, and/or impatient.

And yet I don't feel single in it's truest sense.

I have no desire to remarry.
None.

And if I ever where to remarry, it would have to be to a widower, preferably with 1-3 kids of his own. Someone who cherished his late wife & could relate to me in that critical way.

Yes, I will be that picky.

No, I am not looking for someone to "take care" of me.

My children have a father.

I will be okay on my own.