I wrote this on my widow support group a little while ago. I know I've been neglecting this blog-life has gotten away from me again, and I feel like I'm in a constant struggle to maintain an even keel. Last night threw me for a loop, and I'm still reeling.
It will be 2 years for me in April, and last night was one of those nights that was filled with such crushing loneliness that I could hardly breathe. I cope well most of the time-really, truly well. I am enrolled full time in school and I'm busy raising our 3 young children. I manage to juggle all my responsibilities and I have seen photos of myself where real joy is evident in my eyes-not the fake kind from that first year. I know I've thrown my head back in honest, throaty laughter-but last night I was sucked back into a place of grief and loneliness. The worst part of it was when I tried to pull the memory of him close-I found that bits of him have faded away. His memory, the sound of his voice and the memory of his touch have been like a warm blanket that I could pull around my shoulders, especially that first year. I kept his voice alive in my head, the things he would say kept a running commentary on my day. However, as I've gotten further out from my loss and learned how to live again, I've let some of those things go. He is always with me, and I think about him every day, but he isn't necessarily always keeping a running commentary on my day. I don't reach out for him at night anymore, and frankly-I don't know if I really remember what it felt like to make love to him.
I'm torn-I feel like 'letting him go' is a necessary part of healing-if I work hard at keeping his touch and voice alive in my head, I don't know how I could bear the pain of not having him here. If I keep how much I love him, and how much I miss him front and center in my life, I can't function. I don't know how much choice I've had in the pieces of him I've lost-but I feel like in letting them go, I've betrayed him. I cried last night, for the first time since I stood on the beach after the rose ceremony in Ft. Lauderdale-and they were the loud kind of sobs I was afraid would wake the kids. In the midst of my wails, I realized it had been months since I cried like that. What does that mean? Does it mean I'm healing, and it's healthy? Does it mean that so much of him has slipped away that I'm not even actively grieving his loss anymore? I know-logically-that I love(d) him with all my heart, but if I've let the sound of his voice, the light in his eyes, or the smile in his face fade away, does that mean I don't love him as much as I thought?
I know-logically-that this is all part of grieving. I know that I'm certainly not the first widow to struggle in the chasm between active grief and whatever lies beyond that. I have grieved my love in the most healthy way I know how-but I fear now that in the healing, I've lost who he is. Little things I can't remember, touches that have faded away. Like I said-if I didn't let these things go, I don't know how I could bear the pain. But now that they're gone, I don't know how to go on without them.
1 comment:
Again, not much to say, because anything I would try to say seems to empty, because I don't understand the pain you feel or the situation you are in, but I did have one thought come to me while I read your words.
Even if you forget it in this mortal existence, you will have the memory in the next. So, even if you lose bits of him to be able to keep living, you haven't really lost them. They're still in your brain, safe and tucked away, enabling you to move forward, and you'll have them (and him!) again.
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