Hiraeth

Long before I met that shy boy with the crooked smile, I realized I’ve always had a gypsy soul. I never really established roots in any place for too long and therefore, I never experienced homesickness. But then I met a broken soul who was more broken than I was. Our broken pieces fit together in ways we never thought possible. He became my home. He became my roots.

In these past 5 years since his death, I find myself empty. I’m always searching the sea of faces for him. I’m always searching my surroundings for signs of him. I honestly feel like an abandoned boat out at sea that has lost its anchor. I don’t want to admit it because I try to exude strength and independence but I truly am lost without him. Widows with children are often told ‘well at least you have your children.’ While I agree that our children do keep us grounded but the love of and for a child can never replace the love of and for a soulmate.

I’m always looking for that next best thing that will make me feel whole again. I keep waiting for something spectacular to happen that will help fill this void and it doesn’t. And the truth is there may always be this void. I’ve tried relocating to another city. I’ve tried dating. I’ve tried traveling. I’ve picked up new hobbies. I’ve picked up old hobbies. But at the end of the day, sometimes in the dead of night, I feel empty.

Admitting that feels like defeat. I try to remain positive and I try to find the hidden meaning and messages that maybe only the fallen are meant to understand. And truthfully, it’s all bullshit. There is no rhyme or reason to this universe. It’s not meant to be figured out by any of us. But yet we continue because of our fear of the unknown. Nobody knows what happens after death. We all have our theories and our beliefs and our faith. But these ideas are born from fear of the unknown. While life seems finite, death seems infinite.

I came across this beautiful word earlier in my grief journey – hiraeth. And it embodies all the longing and emptiness experienced by a widow. My home is now a pile of ashes. I can’t rebuild it. I can no longer go home because it no longer exists. I can’t seem to reestablish my roots anywhere no matter how hard I try. But maybe I’m not meant to.

Maybe I’m meant to be a lost wandering soul for the rest of this physical life. Maybe I’m meant to always find the blessings in the moments. Maybe when it’s my time to go, I will look back and realize all these moments made me whole.