People worry about me. That is such a foreign concept to me. Yet I found out last night that it is true. Friends on twitter had missed me, and started trying to decide how to check on me without appearing intrusive. Let me say up front how much I appreciate that concern. Let me also allay all concerns. I’m still here, and I don’t expect to die from Broken Heart Syndrome.
All my life, I have been the caretaker. That’s been my lot in life since my youngest memories. At the age of 11, I was a latch key kid caring for my 8-year-old brother. I made dinner, I cleaned house, I saw to it he bathed, and kept him safe. My parents were divorced, and my mother had sole custody. She worked 12 – 14 hours a day to afford to feed us, and that was still a meager living. I know what it is to be poor, and to care for others from a very young age. I was really never a child myself.
I guess that’s why I have a tough time seeing others take that role in my life. As I said already, I appreciate that it is there, and value it highly. It’s just such a new role for me, such a sudden and major role reversal. It’s simply another of the many changes happening in my life, all at once it seems. Learning to live as a widow [I hate the gender specificity in such words, and refuse to use the correct word] is going to be a major effort for me. I’m still relatively young, and yet I have already known, and lost, the one true love of my life.
And now I am crying again, so I think I will stop here. Once again, to all who care – Thank you from the bottom of my heart.