For the first time in thirty three years, I could breath. I could be free and myself. No one on this ship knew me or anything about me.
I didn’t have to play the ‘Happily Married Woman’, or the’Grieving Window‘ I could be me… whoever that was.
If I was forty, there would be possibilities to start a new chapter.But I was fifty eight and doubted I would find anyone I could think of sharing my life with.
Yet, I left that option open.
The strangest part is that I felt I needed to rebuild myself.
Unlike those who love and marry and share themselves and add this, subtract that, I had lived in a shell.
From the day I considered marrying Patrick, until this moment, I did not exist. I was folded and packed in a suitcase, and put in the back of the closet.
I needed to open that suitcase, unfold myself. Drop all the mannerisms and behaviours I had adopted to survive a life with a person I never loved.
I had to extricate myself from connection to my children who were part of the’legend’ but never touched my heart.
I suppose that is a lot of honesty for one revelation.