Growing up, I went through a lot of different phases- I was a fearless tomboy between the ages of 1 and 4, boring asthmatic nerd, boring nerd, happy semi-nerd, angry teenager, depressed college student, psychotically cheerful wife, etc, etc. But of all my “avatars”, I like this one the least. And not just because of the lousy circumstances. I just don’t particularly like this new Sheryll.
Old Sheryll believed in the inherent goodness of people. She trusted easily, never questioned motives and was hardly ever suspicious. New Sheryll? Not so much. Old Sheryll believed that if she was genuine, others would be genuine too, so much that her husband used to worry about how she’d survive in the real world. Old Sheryll did not care. Why did she have to worry? Her husband would protect her anyway. New Sheryll does not believe she has that luxury. Old Sheryll was badass and was only scared of caterpillars. New Sheryll freaks out every time her phone rings. New Sheryll is very self-absorbed and doesn’t like many people. New Sheryll doesn’t really like New Sheryll either.
So what spurred this rambling, incoherent rant of mine? Well, here goes. Rajeev and I used to go to a church in a nearby town where his parents lived. I haven’t been to that church since his funeral. Anyways, so a few weeks ago, there was some special program happening in my current church and a bunch of people came here from that other church. I’ve never felt more judged in my entire life. Suddenly I felt like my sari was too transparent (it wasn’t) and my makeup was inches thick (obviously not). Then over that weekend, there was this sudden onslaught of people from that town calling home to ask about “my well-being”.
Old Sheryll would not have used double-quotes.
Old Sheryll would have smiled and said hello to these people. Old Sheryll would not have felt so judged because Old Sheryll would not have thought that they had any reason to judge.
Maybe they WERE judging me for being able to smile and laugh so soon after my husband’s death. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe they just did not know how to talk to me. Maybe it’s all just in my head. I don’t know. And it shouldn’t matter to me either. Because really, how I deal with losing Rajeev is personal. I have a wonderful circle of family and friends who are there for me. I’ll cry when I want to and laugh when I want to. And it’s nobody’s damn business but mine.
But if there’s one thing I learned in these past few months, it’s that it is so easy to hate, SO easy to become bitter and mean and angry. It’s so easy to dwell on the negatives for so long that it’s all you can think about. To allow these emotions to control you till you can feel nothing else. The scary part is that It. Is. Just. So. Easy.
I also learned that it’s a choice.
I learned that I can choose to be all Miss Havisham-like and rot away with my memories, or I can just choose to be happy. I can choose to live, happily, not just survive from day to day. I learned that yes, I do live forever, in my eyes at least, because I’ll be alive for as long as I’m living and when I’m dead, it won’t matter because I won’t know anything anyway. (I don’t know if that made any sense. But it did to me. In my defense, I’m very sleep deprived.) Yeah, so I’m going to live. I might as well live happily. Right? And I believe I will. Someday.
So what if Rajeev and I never formed that husband-wife rock band along the lines of the White Stripes? I’m still alive. I can still sing. So what if we never got to visit a foreign country? I still have my passport. The world is my oyster. And one day I’ll stop believing that thinking these things makes me a bad person. One day I’ll realize that how happy I decide to be is not inversely proportional to how much I love my husband. One day, I’ll smile and mean it. And I’ll be happy. You just watch me.
