I think about my wife every day.
i don’t think about her every minute of every day because some minutes I’m thinking things like:
- Oh crap, was that my exit I just passed?
- Where am I going to sleep tonight?
- Is that wheel on my camper bowing outward?
- How am I going to turn around here?
But when I pause to watch the sunrise, gaze at the mountain peaks or look up at the stars I think, “Ellen would have loved this. I wish she was here with me.” And I weep.
I’ll hear a song that reminds of good times or bad times we shared. And I weep.
I see husband and wife trucker teams at rest stops. I am jealous that they have each other. And I weep.
I miss eating with her, talking to her, laughing with her and being with her.
How can she just be gone?
I’m not ok, but at least I’m not wishing I was dead all the time.
I’m trying to stay warm, be safe and not get too lost. I have stuff I have to take care of and things I need to do. They might be mundane basics (food, shelter, clothing) but they are challenging for me in this life on the road.
This is no vacation for me. I’ve got a steep learning curve.
I did this deliberately. I needed a challenge. I needed to push myself. I don’t know who I am without Ellen and maybe this journey will help me figure it out. Even if it doesn’t, I’ll be a little more resilient and will have seen more of the world and it’s people. That has to be a good thing.
I’m no longer a husband. When the closing agent asked me if I was married, I felt like I was choking when I said, “I’m a widower”.
How can I be a widower?
i love my wife. I wear my ring. I’m not interested in other women.
And yet, I’m no longer part of a couple, but I still think and say “we” “us” and “ours”.
I no longer have a wife. I no longer have a home. I no longer have an identity.
One day, I’ll be more confident driving in unfamiliar places, scouting out sites, making / breaking camp and living off grid.
I am getting better at handling adversity. If nothing else, it crops up multiple times a day and so far I still haven’t given up. In the end, I’ve got to handle my shit. I’m alone in unfamiliar territory (and Snickers is counting on me).
When I get stressed I say to myself, “What are they gonna do – make my wife suffer and then kill her?” It’s too late, it’s already been done. Anything else pales in comparison.
So I’m not too worried about how things will work out. I don’t really care.
Things will be ok. Or not. Whatever.
Maybe some day I will care again.
Maybe this drastic lifestyle change will teach me how to get there.
Maybe I’ll be able to learn how to build a life without my wife.
Even if I don’t want to.