Stretching Toward Authenticity

On January 27, 2019, my husband died suddenly, in my arms, on the lawn under the redwoods outside of our apartment. It totally sideswiped me. We were together for 36 years and he was an integral part of me.

But that's the thing about death. He will always be a part of me, but physically he isn't here. Without our partnership to define me, who am I? While I've never been a faded flower, hiding under the bright light of my husband, it still takes a little rethinking. The last time I was on my own I was 23 years old. That's the same age my daughter Zoe was when her dad died.

So I embarked on a quest. My goal: to stretch toward authenticity. To throw my arms wide, trying out all kinds of different things that catch my fancy, and then release those that don't feel right. To figure out what I like to do, be, and think when I'm just with myself.

I have to admit that I've loved this exploration. It's been a shiny nugget of gold in a river of grief. It's been fun, it's been a little exciting, it's been funny. I've not turned my back entirely on the things Tom and I did together, but I have been focused more on the new. My worry has been that I'll be stuck in way of being that really no longer exists with Tom gone.

So the photo below is apropos. It was taken during a night swim on Miami Beach. I feel like I'm emerging into a new world that's kind of scary but also interesting.