There are days when widowhood feels something like a half-life. You're going along in your perfectly full life, with a whole family and a happy home and your cute little shared space, content and blissfully unaware of what it would be like if all of a sudden it wasn't there anymore.
And then is isn't.
You become a half. The left over half. The left behind half. The half that will always be missing a piece and will never quite be whole again. The half that now has all the responsibility of a whole, only with half the will to do it. Half the time to do it. Half the skill set to do it.
I'm hoping that this half-life, like most other things with a half-life, will reduce into nothing. My half-life will fade away, being replaced by a full life. A life where I took the responsibility of raising two impressionable young boys all on my own and they turn out okay. A life where I graduate from school and do everything with my newfound knowledge that I have ever wanted to do. A life where I find the time to do everything I have to do and still have the time to do what I want to do. A life where I find that other half that doesn't fit perfectly, but fits right enough that you can hardly see the cracks. Maybe not a full life, but most certainly a 9/10 life.
That would certainly be better than the half I'm living in right now.