The Life of a Widow: The Toolbox

You wouldn't think something as simple as opening your husband's gun safe and organizing it. Or opening a dresser drawer to see all his perfectly folded and untouched clothing. Or just standing in the woodshed while filling the woodstove for the second time of the day surrounded by all the wood your husband cut and split with his own two hands. 

You wouldn't think that something as materialistic as your vehicles being driven away by the repo company. Or drywalling and painting your living room. Or installing a dishwasher. Or the purchase of your own new-to-you vehicle. Or the lawn mower just sitting there. Or the unfinished go-cart. 

You are not prepared for all the simple things like the frustration that you cannot find the drill battery charger because, while your husband's garage is impeccably organized, you cannot find a single thing when you're looking for it... And, you don't have your husband there to tell you where it is anymore. 

Or the moments a song comes on and the sound of his voice comes to your ears like he's sitting right next to you.  Or when you laugh at something and an image comes to your mind of his signature laugh, red rosey cheeks and you can hear his laugh. 

You wouldn't think it would be those little moments where you start seeing your life change so quickly, little by little, in a mere 4.5 months to less and less of "mine and Ben's" life to more of "Brandy and the kids just finding their way" life. 

It's those little moments that cause the breakdowns. Those little moments that  hit you like freight train going 200mph. Those little moments that make you either go into complete disbelief that he's *truly* gone or quite the opposite when you realize the magnitude of this loss. 

It's those little moments that make this pain so physically unbearable. That make you feel like you're drowning on air. Those are the moments that bring you to your knees at the most inopportune times each and every day. It's those moments that make you wonder how much longer you can go on without your best friend, your everything; your person. 

Those moments make you miss that smile, that laugh, that hug, that kiss, those hands, that gentle voice. It makes it so physically painful that it's indescribable. 

Tonight, tonight that moment was his toolbox. While looking for a few things in the garage, opening up the bottom drawer to his toolbox... All I could see were all the times I admired those hard-working hands while he went through looking for whatever it was he needed. 

It's moments like those that bring instant tears and drop you to your knees. 

Until next time, friends