Bittersweet

I am incredibly lucky. I am doing work I love, getting paid for it, and am surrounded by people who love me. The last few weeks have seen me at Fringe festivals, performing stories I love to appreciative audiences. I have a comfortable home that I can afford. I eat well. I have health insurance (thanks Obama!). I am blessed.

You'd think I would be over the moon. I am. I am intensely aware of how fortunate I am. And yet.

Kevin wanted this for me. He was my biggest cheerleader, my thoughtful supporter, my sounding board, the one who believed in me when I didn't. He was the one who encouraged me to leap into self-employment, promising to make sure we would be financially secure while I built my business. He was the one who saw more promise in me than I ever see in myself.

Achieving all of this without him is bittersweet. Yes, I am living the life I have worked for and I am continuing to build. Yes, I am profoundly grateful for both these opportunities and all of the grace I encounter ever single day. And yes, this heightens my sense of his absence.

How can I be doing all of this without him? How can this be happening without his loving, supportive and slightly smug smile as I find my way?

I don't know.

I do know that by doing the work, by continuing to forge my own path, I am remaining true to myself and to the light he saw in me. That helps some of the time. Other times it only increases the loneliness and grief, but what else can I do? It isn't in my nature to give up and, were I to do so, I'm sure Kevin would find some way to slap sense back into me.

It's interesting, I wanted this post to be about how even now, 120 weeks out, my longing for Kevin is sometimes still a searing pain. So it is. But what I find in the writing is that my determination to carry on living, to be the woman he believed I could be and more, is stronger than my need to tell you how much it hurts. It does hurt, more than I can tell you. But the gratitude and love are greater now. I never would have believed that a year, two years ago. Widows who were further along told me this time would come and it seemed impossible, but here I am. Still loving. Still yearning. Still living.

I still miss him, I always will. Each success is bittersweet. His is the face I look for in the listening crowd. I still ask him what he thought of a performance or coaching session. I still hope he will answer me. Maybe, sometimes, he does. I just have to listen harder.

(c)2016 Laura S. Packer