A few weeks after my husband passed away, I went back to work. The world (and bills) still begged for my attention. As I walked down the hall to see my first patient, I could feel my nerves boiling under a calm exterior. Can I still do this? I stopped outside the exam room door and took a deep breath…then turned the handle and walked in.
It was a patient I knew. A friendly face. Thank goodness. He smiled as I greeted him. And then…he said, “you’ve lost weight”. I didn’t know what to say. Thanks? Are you sure? What do you mean? Aren’t you confusing me with someone else?
I hadn’t. In fact, I’d probably gained weight over of living out of a hotel room for three weeks, eating university cafeteria food, then feeding off delicious meals, breads, and desserts people brought to my front door. Of course I ate them all: casseroles, chocolate, cake, candy, lattes and sweet baked goods. I ate them ALL up…along with my feelings.
That night, after I got home, I pondered what he said. What did he mean? I’m the same size. I haven’t lost weight. I haven’t bought larger clothes. Was it is the way I walked in? A tone in my voice? The forced surrender of my soul to a new reality?
Or could he see me behind the mask…a soul wrenching knowing that I no longer had death following my husband and I around for days, months, years. IT had happened. The wait for something to happen…happened. Did my patient notice that the dark cloud of borrowed time, frustration, impatience, and fear had lifted?
Odd. He didn’t know anything about my personal life. But he noticed something.
The weight. The weight. The wait.
Something is heavy. Something is burdensome. Something is coming.
He’s right. I did lose. Use whatever form of the word you want. Yes is the answer to all of it. And I’d give anything to have it back.
Just a girl 