I don't blog as much as I used to on this website. Part of the reason is that I feel as if I am always whinging about my lot, about how mucch I miss Butch and what we had. It isn't like I haven't moved forward and stepped into my new life. I just miss him with an ache I can't hide from myself and sharing seems to make me feel less like I'm marooned on an island on my own. It's such a quandry. As I blog I wonder if people say 'Oh, get over it already!' Not that I care what anyone else thinks about where I am on my grief expedition, I guess a part of me thinks the same thing....
I am so fortunate to have such great family support. I am grateful to my grandchildren who remind me that I'm meant to be here, I'm meant to enjoy my life and see the magic in it. Sometimes its nice to have a reason to carry on. I used to be so envious of widows/widowers with young children. It felt like they had a real reason to carry on with life. They had many distractions and love from their young families. Now I realise it's more about finding your way in life after someone you love passes.
This week I've been really weepy. The slightest thing sets me off. Thank goodness..or not..for my diary. Once again, my cellular body has remembered this was a terrible time of Butch's journey, that this was when my grieving expedition really began to speed up. I'd love to say that makes a huge difference and I feel better now...but, Nup!
Sometimes I really can't understand my emotions. I understand that losing Butch has rocked my world, that the world seems a duller and less promising place to be in. I understand you can't wipe away 25 years of love and happiness like cleaning chalk from a blackboard and I understand that being in love generally equates to being in loss.
It's not that I am measuring my expedition by others, but they seem to be coping better than me, they seem to be 'getting on' with their lives, they are swimming upstream while I am here treading water.
It's bizarre. I can feel Butch around me, and yet I still feel such an incredible sense of loss. Will it ever diminish? Will I ever be able to sing along to a love song without my eyes leaking and my voice cracking? Will I ever feel comfortable in my life? I don't know the answers to these questions, and because each grief expedition is unique to the adventurer, I can't expect anyone else to supply me with the answers.
So in the meantime, I will just have to acknowledge what I've accomplished, how far I've come and just keep moving toward the horizon one step at a time.

For as long as I can remember, I've had a stubborn streak - although I do prefer to call it 'independent thinking'! This week has had it's share of ups and downs. I was forced to admit in a public place that I have an issue with my back, stemming back 13 years ago. Generally I can work around my injury, and I barely think about it. It is just a part of my life. I rarely, in fact almost never, told anyone about it, but that changed the other day. I was backed into a corner, with no way out and had to show my vulnerable side. Ouch! It sure hurt! It hurt so much I ended up in tears, another side of me I rarely share. I have an issue with people believing I'm disabled or making allowances for me, and being an 'independent thinker', I prefer to do my own stuff, thank you very much!
I was a bit taken aback when she insisted I must be depressed too, thanks to my eyes leaking. Gotta love that!
Usually I try to be upbeat and bright, but this particular day was incredibly hard. I'd sat in a room of very sad and depressed people, I'd heard a song about death and meeting on the other side, which they are heralding as the (maybe) next olympic games song for the Aussies. Really? Surely not! Its a lovely song, but hardly upbeat and energetic. If I was in the olympic team, I'd lose all will to live, let alone compete!. ...back to my day...after waiting an hour in the waiting room I said I had to leave and go to another appointment, the woman looked up at me and said 'Well, we can't see you straight away, you know. You're an hour late!' She had forgotten to put a tick by my name... Argh!
Anyway, the rest of the day went along those lines and by the time I got home, I was feeling raw and exposed. It's at times like this I really miss being able to talk to Butch about my day. I miss him all day every day, but those moments when you want to laugh about an outrageous incident or cry about a tragedy are the hardest. Nothing beats that closeness a couple shares; where you know each other so well. You don't have to tell the whole story, because each knows how the other reacts in any given circumstance. It's knowing that no one will ever know me in quite the same way, or understand how complex I can be that often leaves me feeling defeated and lost.
A couple of days passed and I had reconciled myself to what had happened. In fact I'd even managed to find the positive gem within that rocky day. I realised that back when everyone told me I would never be able to lead an active life, I bucked the diagnosis and had gone from almost being in a wheelchair to dancing, qualifying as a masseuse and playing in the park with my grandchildren.
It seems that every time in my life someone told me I couldn't do something or something was impossible or beyond my reach, I just went all out and proved them wrong. Butch used to call me a Woman with Attitude, because of this particular trait, this distinctive pattern I followed all my life. In fact, he knew if I wanted to do something out of my comfort zone, he would start by encouraging me and if I hung back or sat on the fence, he would tell me it was probably too dangerous, scary or hard. It worked every time!
Today I was thinking about the coming fourth anniversary of his passing. I still feel the pain and loss keenly. I miss him so much, I still write to him every day, whisper goodnight before I close my eyes and long for his arms around me or the sound of his infectious laugh.
I've come to the conclusion I went about this whole 'grief expedition' all wrong. What I should have done was find someone who would say to me 'Oh, you'll never get over Butch's passing! It will be too hard, too scary and you just won't be able to handle it!' Then, by now I might be living, thinking and acting different than I do.
Instead I've had people saying 'You'll get over it! Everyone else does it, so it can't be that hard! It's not scary being on your own, at least you had all those years with him!'
Yeah, I know, I'm just blowing smoke up yer bum,, but it sounded really good in theory, huh?
Cherie x