When "We" Becomes "Me"

Lately I find myself constantly having to correct myself. "He is" becomes "he was," "he does" becomes "he did," "he always" becomes "he used to," "our" becomes "my," "party of four" becomes "party of three." I start to set the table with four place settings and I have to take one away. I get out four dinner rolls and I have to put one back. I start to check the box for "married" and have to erase it and check the box for "widowed," or worse, "single." "We" has become "me."

I'm not ready to be a "me" again. I liked being a "we." I liked the shared enjoyment and responsibilities of "our" house, "our" pool, "our" cars, "our" travel plans, "our" social events. I liked being a parent to "our" kids, not just "my" kids. I liked being part of a team when making decisions, of having a built-in sanity check, an automatic second opinion. I need a yang to my yin. 

The thing is, my husband and I were very complementary in a lot of ways. He was friendly and outgoing, sometimes to the point of being overbearing, and I am shy and introverted, sometimes to the point of being reclusive. He pushed me into the world of people, and I reined him in when he got pushy. I built up funds by scrimping and saving what little I made; he built them up by spending a lot but earning more. Between the two of us, we struck a healthier financial balance than either one of us did alone. He tended to act without thinking things through, and I leaned toward overthinking everything. The pair of us planning together led to wiser decisions than working individually. "We" had more spontaneity than "me" but more thoughtfulness than "he." I learned to manage technology (somewhat) because of him. He learned to appreciate wildlife (somewhat) because of me. He barked at the kids when they needed it and I hugged them when they needed it. When I barked it was serious and when he hugged it was special. We balanced each other out.  

But now I've lost that balance. No wonder I feel like I'm careening through life without much control right now. I don't have that stabilizing influence. Like a boat without a keel, there's nothing to keep me upright when the wind blows or the waves strike. 

The good thing is that I know I've absorbed so much of his influence over the years that in some ways he's still beside me. "What would he do?" is a question I can sometimes answer, although it's a lot harder to follow through on without him here. It's not automatic or instinctual, like it was with him, but it's there. And thinking about it helps to keep him with me. My "me" has taken on some of our "we." 

I can't do it alone. But I'm never really alone, because he will always be in my heart. So maybe my part of "us" can do it, even when "I" can't. Because "we" has become a part of "me." Like it says in the song "For Good" from Wicked:

So much of me is made of what I learned from you.
You'll be with me like a handprint on my heart.

His handprint will always be there.