A Day in the Life of a Widowed Parent

Is that sunlight coming through the window?

"Hey, Tony, it’s time to get up…"

Oh, yeah, he’s not over there. Ok, I’m going back to sleep. I don’t feel like moving at the moment.

*Covers go over the head*

Mister’s up.

“Moooooooooommmmm! Get up! You gotta take me to the bus and you gotta work!”

“What? It’s Saturday, isn’t it?”

“Noooooooo! Get upppppppp!!!!”

Shit. I am not in the mood today. I’ll get up in a minute. Back to sleep, I go.

Door slams open.

“MOM! Get up right now!”

I think to myself, who the hell is the parent here? Oh, it’s me. I have to get up and make money to keep the bills paid and feed those crumb snatchers called my kids. Actually, they're our kids. Sometimes I forget they aren’t just mine because they act more like him anyway.

While those panicked thoughts brought me fully awake, I would whip my comforter over to the empty side of the bed and force myself up. If Tony was here, this is the part where he would roll over, pull me back down to kiss me and grab some part of my anatomy. I’d giggle and then jump up because now I would be running late.

Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, and will myself towards the bathroom. I stare up at his smiling face on the portrait the funeral home created for me and hiss, “Quit your smiling. I'm not having fun here.”

I shower-up with my favorite bath wash, which was also his favorite on me and I think about this while I’m in there. He’d sniff the air and say joyously, “Mmmmm, love when you use that.”

No one to say that to me now.

At least I smell good.