Today I’ve woken up alone, which reminds me of my early days of widowhood. Those moments where you roll over, reach out, and remember. There’s no one there. He’s not there. He never will be again.
I come downstairs and the house is empty. Luckily for me, just because the boys have gone on a boy’s boating holiday for a week, not because anyone has died. This time.
My tummy rumbles and I head to the kitchen. It’s the weekend but what’s the point of a treat breakfast for one?
So, I head for a breakfast bar, and stop.
I remember the lessons I learnt from my widowhood.
When I was first alone, after Martin died I couldn’t be bothered with anything, and that included cooking.
‘What’s the point for one?’ I would often ask myself. I didn’t look after myself, I existed but I didn’t really look after myself.
I very quickly realised that couldn’t become the way I was.
Life is for the living, and that includes good, healthy, tasty food.
As widows we must look after ourselves, even if it does mean cooking for one.
I know some days the grief will be too much and a breakfast bar is all you can manage; but when you can, look after yourself, eat well, you are worth it.