On a day like today, when I was 10 years old, I might have been lying on my bedroom floor, listening to the radio. “Neverending Story” by Limahl might have been playing, and the breeze might have been causing my curtains to billow gently. The chimes that hung from my ceiling might have been clinking along in time with the song.
On a day like today, when I was 17 years old, I might have been reading a book or daydreaming about my upcoming senior year of high school. There was also likely a breeze that would offer reprieve from the late Spring heat. A power ballad from a hair band was probably playing, and I probably had zero cares in all the world.
On a day like today, when I was 31 years old, I might have been planning to uproot my entire life. The man I had met a few months earlier might have done an excellent job of convincing me to move to California with my 11-year-old child. I might have thought that my dreams of living in California and finding true love were finally on the precipice of coming true. I might have been listening to Counting Crows, convinced that they too were pleading the case for me to move to that sunny place one state south of me.
On a day like today, when I was 42, I might have been hiking through the forest outside an enchanted Western Oregon town, with that fabled California-husband and our little girl. We would probably dine at one of our favorite local eateries and make plans to improve the business that he had always dreamed of running.
On that same day, I probably didn’t know that he would not be alive in just eight short months, having ended his life at his own hand.
I probably didn’t understand the gravity of losing a spouse.
I probably didn’t understand the devastation of losing a spouse to suicide.
I probably still felt the same magic that little girl on the floor felt. I probably still had some of the hope of that book-reading teenager.
On a day like today, I dig deep to find those girls and all the hope they had; all the bliss that was coursing through their veins just because they were alive.
Those girls are still in there–they surface once in a while. They are just harder to access now, all because of a day NOT like today.
On a day like today, I remind myself to be grateful, because it is not that day.
It
is
not
that
day.
Image via Bing AI
June 10, 2017 – Photo (c) L.B. Munk
About Layla Beth Munk
Layla Beth Munk is a blogger & author who was thrust into this widowhood journey abruptly and tragically on February 11, 2018. Her husband of 12 years had ended his pain once and for all. She soon made the decision that she would not let his final decision define the rest of her life or their daughter’s life, so with her sense of humor at the helm, she started writing about her newfound station in life. Grief waves still get to her, and probably always will, but with the help of her fellow widows as well as friends and family, she has been able to realize her dream of becoming a published author! Layla is so grateful to Hope For Widows Foundation for providing this level of support to her, and so many others! Layla has two amazing children, one who is grown and one who is almost grown. She lives in eastern Oregon and has a wellness & beauty background. Layla enjoys writing poetry, watching anime, and homeschooling her daughter.
Her blog can be found at laylabethmunk.medium.com and her debut novella, 24 Hours in Vegas, is available on Amazon.