Pseudo-widow (...hey! ...that rhymes! ...kind of...)

I hate these nights--the nights where it feels as though nothing soothes the irreconcilable loss and confusion my soul feels. I sometimes think another partner, or just a stand-in for a while, to comfort me would help. But like any widow (or pseudo-widow/stroke-wife in my case), I think the thing I long for the most is my ex's choice of words and his touch and his smell and to hear him say my name. And for him to "come back" and comfort me.
I just want him to hold me in bed, spooning me, while I sob and share how painful the last six years have been and to have him hear me, like really hear me. And for him to empathize and agree that I've done a great job with Morgan and acknowledge that I've chosen to continue living and all the effort that I have put into doing my "work" to process everything post-April-01-2008 (date of the stroke) has put me in the best possible spot I could currently hope to be in. I don't think I have been passive or stagnant in my healing and processing, and maybe that's part of the pain tonight too... why do I still hurt so badly and why haven't I finished this? I just want to be on my new-path that I thought I had already stepped onto and start moving forward... I'm not saying that I want to forget where I've been, who I've been with, or that I don't want to look back from time to time. But I do wish there were less tethers to the old.

As a pseudo-widow, I believe these tethers are confusing due to the nature of life post-massive-stroke-where-a-craniotomy-is-required. I lost Wayne the night of April 1st, 2008... he went into the bathroom, but he never came out. I realized in Feb 2013 that he died that night.  It felt like we saved him, that he miraculously lived, but as I've said before, Wayne "is but a shadow of the man I married and loved".
So, even though he's gone, and I grieve the "death" of him, he's literally still here....he can physically stand in front of me and my mind can't deny that he is alive, he smells like him, he laughs like him, and he can give me one little look that feels like the old-life. So, I grieve, I deal with the loss of my partner, I accept these facts... but then my heart, my head, and my processing gets all confuddled when...
...he knocks on my door out of no where, completely unexpectedly (yes, he takes five buses/four transfers from South King County to randomly show-up on my doorstep);
...he calls me, as he did tonight, crying because he hates the assisted living facility in which he lives and he chooses to call me, the person who was his best friend, advocate, enabler, spouse, confidant for more than 14 years, reaching out to me when he's miserable;
...when my heart gets hurt, on this new path that I'm trying to blaze and map-out, and I find myself going to him for a hug and to wipe my tears...
...he's the one person on this earth that knows me the best and in the most depth... correction: he knows me the best up until the stroke, but we're stuck in April 2008... he doesn't understand the weight, the challenges, the losses, or the pain and fear I've endured and pushed through while raising a newborn and trying to save, advocate, and stay connected to my partner, spouse, and best friend...

I have attempted to capture, and continue to work through, the connection I feel to Katy Perry's new album, Prism. It's been astonishing and wonderful to have words provided to me (the lyrics of her songs) that help me to identify my feelings and pain, but the intensity of the parallels and how her words resonate with me, my soul, my heart, and my head has been a bit disruptive to my life the last few weeks. I am certain that my mentioning her album will be a common theme in the months to come as her words are profound to me.
Oh, and you know what else?!? I'm also just realizing it is Feb/March, and that's when things began to unravel in 2008. And the smells of the air, the sun's position, Morgan's upcoming birthday--they all, subconsciously, are very sad reminders, and "triggers" for my subconscious, of what was, what was about to be, and all that happened.

To follow an ambulance, with my 3 week old (first and only) child sitting in the backseat, while pleading to the universe to allow him to not die before we get to the hospital so that I can see him at least one more time... that is the first of many things I wish I could forget and never experience.